Tiny Cuts
by smellslikesalvation
Summary: It starts when Stiles is six and gets a bloody nose while doing his homework.
1. Chapter 1

inspired by "maybe the little bruises and cuts that show up on your body seemingly out of nowhere are actually little injuries that happened to your soul mate and you get the same marks on your skin as them" combined with a bit of Howl's Moving Castle. basically, soul mates fic with a twist sorta 

* * *

It starts when Stiles is six and gets a bloody nose while doing his homework. His mother fussed over him for hours after that, debating whether or not to go to the emergency room even though the bleeding stopped a few moments after it started. When Stiles' dad comes home, he calms Claudia down, and they prepare dinner together.

However, when it happens every day, same time, for the next two weeks, that's when Stiles is forced into the hospital. The doctors claim nothing's wrong, and send them on their way.

Claudia worries about it, getting angry every time it happens, whispering under her breath about how "doctors are no help nowadays" and "my boy's bleeding randomly, that isn't normal."

The nosebleeds stop, finally, the week after they see the doctor. Stiles is too young to question it, and his parents are just glad it's over.

Six months after the nosebleed incident, Stiles breaks his finger going down a slide at the local park. Claudia rushes him to the hospital, and when she has to explain he broke it on the slide, the nurses don't believe her.

"Ma'am, tell us what happened," one of them, Linda, demands.

Claudia explodes. "I watched him the entire time! He went down the slide, and started crying at the bottom of it! That's all I know."

The police are brought in, suspecting abuse, but the parents at the park back-up Claudia's claim that she did not hurt Stiles, that her original story is true. Claudia doesn't bother sticking around, and finds her son getting his hand X-rayed.

"Clean break. As if he fell on it. It will heal within four to six weeks. He will have to wear a splint until then."

Claudia thanks the doctor, and as soon as Stiles has a splint on his finger, she whisks him away for milkshakes, not ice cream, so Stiles wouldn't have to use his hands.

The weeks pass, and Stiles' finger heals perfectly fine.

Another six months go by, Stiles turns seven, and there are no more serious injuries. Claudia wakes up early one morning, 5 o'clock, and walks downstairs. Stiles is already awake, sitting on the couch and staring at his hands.

"Hey, honey. Whatcha doing?" Claudia yawns as she pulls out the coffee grinds.

Stiles doesn't say anything, and she thinks he's sleep-walking. Then, Stiles stands up, and goes back to his room. Claudia chuckles as the bedroom door closes.

Three hours later, Stiles comes back downstairs to the smell of pancakes and bacon. He jumps on his chair, next to his dad. "Pancakes!"

"Pancakes," his dad repeats, possibly still half-asleep.

Stiles has the biggest smile on his face as Claudia flips four pancakes onto Stiles' plate. His expression dims, and he looks at his hands. Claudia sees they're littered with small cuts.

"Stiles, what happened to your hands?" Claudia says, leaving the pan on the table and examining his hands. Small cuts, some criss-crossing, are all over the back of his hands, as well as a few tiny ones on his fingers.

He shrugs. "Dunno. They just appeared."

Claudia _tsks_. "Don't lie to me. What happened?"

"I don't know!" Stiles pulls his hands back, hiding them in his sleeves. He's looking down, not meeting his parents' eyes.

Claudia and her husband sigh. They won't be able to force an answer out of their son, so they drop it, but no less determined to figure out what happened.

They never do. 

* * *

Claudia gets sick a few weeks before Stiles' ninth birthday. It started with migraines, Claudia describes them as stabbing pain, and then she passes away peacefully in her sleep a few days later. Aneurysm, the doctors tell Stiles and his dad. Stiles is too young to understand, like when he had his nosebleeds, but he knows his mother's gone.

The funeral takes place the following weekend, and Stiles takes a few days off from school, while his dad takes his vacation days from work. They grieve in silence. (Stiles does, in his room. His dad drinks.)

The first few years after her death were hard. She never got to find out why Stiles was getting strange injuries. It was never anything serious, but enough to warrant concern. Stiles never found out either.

His dad went out after work, came back early in the morning, usually around one or two. Stiles would have to help him into bed, tucking him in and shutting off the lights, leaving the door open a crack.

Stiles never got enough sleep at night. He never blamed his dad.

He reaches high school almost unscathed. The morning before the first day of freshman year, a massive wound appears on his ribs. He falls into the bathtub, groaning in pain. He's home alone, and nobody's going to save him. Pain ripples across his chest.

He's bleeding, not as much a wound like that would warrant, but enough where he uses the shower head to clean it off, aiming the stream at the skin above the wound. Even that's tender. Stiles bites his lip as he grabs an extra towel to dab himself dry. He looks at himself in the mirror. Massive claw marks mar the skin down his ribs.

Stiles makes sure to avoid crowds, and has to push Scott back from hugging him.

"Dude," Scott starts.

Stiles holds up his hand. "I fell down the stairs last night. Tripped over the carpet."

"Oh, sorry man." Scott slaps his shoulder, and they carry on like that until Stiles says the 'bruises' faded. And then Scott gives him the tightest hug since Stiles' mom died.

Scott has to go to work after school, and since they need to work on a project anyway, Stiles just tags along. Deaton isn't in sight yet, but Stiles figures he must be around. Scott drops his bag on the ground, and Stiles follows suit.

A small, what must be a paper-cut, appears on Stiles finger. He winces, and licks his finger.

"What happened?" Deaton says, sufficiently scaring Stiles off the stool he was sitting on.

Stiles looks at his hand. "Oh, nothing." Scott looks over, face visibly concerned. "It's nothing."

"How long?" Deaton asks. Stiles knows that look. It says, "don't lie. Something's going on." He gets it from his dad at least twice a day.

He sighs, and runs a hand through (over; his hair's not long enough yet) his hair. "Since I was six. My dad told me I would get nosebleeds when I wasn't even doing anything."

"Interesting." Deaton smiles. "Do you know why?"

"No, but I have a feeling you do." Stiles glances over at Scott, standing near the door leading to the dog kennels.

Deaton chuckles. "You, Stiles, have a soul mate."

Scott gasps, and Stiles scoffs. "Yeah, sure. And you have a full head of hair." Stiles' stomach sinks when Deaton doesn't smile. He glances over at Scott, who's not looking at anyone. "You believe him?"

Scott looks at him. "It makes sense. I've seen you get hurt while just standing or sitting." Scott takes a step forward. "You just got a cut while sitting there. I saw you."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "Fine. Say it is true. Who would be unfortunate enough to be stuck with me?"

Deaton shrugs. "Only you will know. And the person at the other end of those marks." He laughs, and prompts Scott to grab one of the puppies from the back.

Stiles doesn't think it's funny. 

* * *

A year passes. Stiles doesn't find whoever it is creating these strange marks on him, and he's... not sure how he's supposed to feel about it. He doesn't know if he really wants to know, or just go through the rest of his life with a quarter of his life in another person's hands.

He doesn't even go looking. Or so he tells himself.

(He's never going to admit that afternoon happened. The one where he sat on a bench and stabbed his wrist with a pen repeatedly, looking for the person who grabbed their arm. Nobody did.)

So he continues with his life, dealing with Scott and his dad, who was promoted to Sheriff a few years ago. Stiles even brings Scott to the woods, searching for half a body, then lies to his dad to save Scott's ass.

He gets sent to the police station, where he has to sit and wait for an undetermined amount of time. Stiles has been sitting for ten minutes when he feels a weird tug on his heart. He sweeps over the entire station, but no one catches his eye. Stiles drops back down in the chair.

It was probably nothing. (He tells himself until he believes it.)

The next day, Scott tells Stiles he got bit by a wolf after Stiles was caught by his dad. Stiles has to explain that there are no wolves in California, so there is no way one could've bit him.

"There are no wolves in California," Stiles assures for the last time.

He is pumped, however, when Scott tells him that he found the body. He demands Scott take him there after Scott gets out from work, and gets more excited when Scott agrees with a small smile.

The day passes as fast as it can. Lydia ignores him (as usual), the new girl is swooped up by Lydia and Jackson (not surprising), and Stiles is treated to a spectacle at practice. Scott is on net, and catches every single ball (except for the first, which hit him in he face while he was staring at Allison). Stiles cheers him on from the bench.

Stiles drops Scott off at work, and Scott reminds him to pick him up at six. Stiles rolls his eyes. "As if I would forget." Stiles then proceeds to look up what the hell was going on with his friend.

The only explanation he comes up with is that Scott is a werewolf. Which is ridiculous, because there _are no wolves in California._

He looks at the time, and drops the book he was reading to nab his keys and run out to his car. He picks up Scott a few minutes after six, and they drive to Beacon Hills Preserve.

They walk in silence for a bit, searching for Scott's inhaler he dropped on the night he was attacked. Stiles asks what the hell went on during practice, but not even Scott knew what was going on, then began worrying he had some disease.

Stiles jokes about him being a werewolf, and Scott pushes him.

"Obviously, I'm kidding," Stiles says, smiling. "But if you see me in shop class trying to melt all the silver I can find, it's 'cause Friday's a full moon."

Scott stops him. The body's not there, but Scott insists it was. He kneels down to look through the dead leaves. Stiles looks up to see a man standing there, staring at them. Stiles slaps Scott's head.

"What are you doing here? Huh? This is private property." The face looks familiar, like Stiles has seen him before. Is he...

Stiles puts his hand in his jacket pocket, and makes a fist as tight as possible, digging his fingernails into his palm. The man doesn't flinch. Stiles sighs, and removes his hand from his pocket. The man glances down at his hand, narrowing his eyes.

"What happened?"

Wow. Stiles really hates that phrase now.

He looks down at his palm, not even realizing that one of his blunt nails somehow cut through the skin and now his palm's bleeding. "Oh," Stiles says. Scott stands up, grabbing the injured hand.

"Did you do this?" Scott asks. Stiles nods, and Scott glances down and scrunches his face. "Why?"

Stiles glances up once. The man's still there. "Just making sure," Stiles whispers.

Scott looks up, and gives Stiles a half-smile. "Okay. I get it. Let's go." Scott turns to the mystery man. "Sorry. Again."

The man throws Scott his inhaler, and disappears as fast as he appeared. Scott frowns, and pockets it. "Let's get this cleaned up."

Stiles slams his good hand into Scott's chest. "Dude, that was Derek Hale. You remember, right? He's only a few years older than us."

Scott insists on walking while talking. "Remember what?"

"His family. They all burned to death in a fire, like, ten years ago."

Scott looks wounded, like his family had been the ones burned in a fire. "I wonder what he's doing back." Stiles winces as Scott accidentally pulls a little too hard. "Sorry. Let's go."


	2. Chapter 2

Stiles winds up bumping into Derek a few more times. He sees him at a coffee shop, trying to order coffee while the barista flirts with him. Stiles snorts into his hand, the half-moons of his fingernails still present.

Derek turns around, and Stiles rubs the back of his neck and turns the other way until Derek moves to wait for his drink. Stiles orders his drink, hot chocolate with whipped cream, and sadly not hit on by the barista. By now, Derek's sitting down and reading a book.

While Stiles is waiting, he looks around. There are a few empty tables, but by the time he gets his hot chocolate, they're all taken. The seat in front of Derek, however, isn't.

He sits down, ignoring the suspicious eyebrow life and questioning head tilt, and pulls out his homework. Stiles continues on as if nothing's the matter, until Derek 'accidentally' knocks over his drink onto his biology book.

"Sorry," he says, completely unapologetic.

Stiles glares at him. "That was unnecessary," he says.

"You sitting down was unnecessary," Derek retorts, and Stiles rolls his eyes.

"Well, message received. Loud and clear." Stiles gazes forlornly at his book, and wonders how he's going to explain it to his teacher.

He leaves (without another hot chocolate, thanks barista), and heads home to clean his book. Stiles doesn't comment on the flutter in his chest as he left the shop.

Another time, Stiles and his dad are shopping for groceries. Stiles wants only the healthiest, while his dad is adamant about buying TV dinners. Derek Hale ends up strolling past as Stiles yanks the package out of the Sheriff's hands. It lands at Derek's feet.

He picks it up and hands it to Stiles. "I think you dropped this," he says, like he didn't just see them practically wrestle for it.

"Thanks," Stiles says, then immediately puts it back in the freezer. His dad, though he will never admit it, whines the rest of the time.

Then, Stiles is at the library, researching more on werewolves and lycanthropy, and Derek's at a table, books split into two piles Stiles assumes are read and to read.

He doesn't make the mistake of sitting with him. He has his own table with his own books and his own reading to do. He has a pen and notebook handy for things to write down.

Stiles almost finishes with one book, a full page of notes, when someone speaks behind him. "What are you doing?" He almost drops the book, and the pen he was chewing falls out of his mouth.

"Research," he tells an annoyed Derek Hale. "Not that you should care or anything."

Derek takes one look at the books Stiles is reading, and laughs. Stiles glares at him, and turns his back, closing the books and putting them away. He's tired and has other homework to do. By the time he gets back to his table where his bag is, Derek's gone, and so is Stiles' rapid pulse.

The last time he sees Derek for a while is when Scott and Stiles call Stiles' dad to accuse Derek of being a murderer. All Derek does is tell Stiles that Scott shouldn't play in the game before Stiles is manhandled out of the car by his dad.

Scott, apparently, proves Derek wrong and helps win the game, even reeling in his werewolf. Stiles is thoroughly impressed. He joins the team in celebration, but notices Scott missing. He ends up in the locker room, sadly, watching Allison and Scott kiss. He waits, and when Allison leaves, Stiles moves forward.

"I don't know how, but I controlled it. I pulled it back. Maybe, I can do this. Maybe it's not that bad," Scott says, biggest smile on his face.

Stiles smiles with him. "Yeah. We'll talk later, then?" He says, even though the information's ready to jump off his tongue.

Scott's smile drops. "What?"

"The, uh, medical examiner looked at the other half of the body we found."

"And..."

"Well, I'll keep it simple. Medical examiner determines killer of girl to be animal, not human. Derek's human, not animal. Derek not killer. Derek let out of jail." Stiles sighs.

"Are you kidding?" Scott says.

"No, and here's a bigger kick in the ass. My dad ID'd the dead girl. Both halves. Her name was Laura Hale."

"Hale?"

Stiles nods. "Derek's sister."

* * *

Stiles actually forgets about the fact that sometimes he'll get hurt and it's actually someone else's fault. His "soul mate" or whatever. And then he, Scott, Allison, Lydia, and Jackson are trapped in the school with an Alpha, who also may or may not be Scott's boss.

The Alpha's chasing them down a hall, and Stiles trips, not of his own accord, and screams. His ankle's twisted the wrong way, and tears prick at his eyes.

Scott turns back immediately, and Jackson helps out, though Stiles suspects he's on autopilot. They each hook Stiles' arm through theirs, and drag them to a room Lydia and Allison opened. They shut it quickly behind the three of them.

"What the hell happened?" Allison asks, voice pitched high.

Stiles wants to rub his ankle, but knows it would make it much worse. Instead, he focuses on regulating his breathing and not moving. "I broke my ankle."

Scott shoves Jackson away, and moves in close. "Was it really you?" He whispers.

"No," Stiles whispers back. "No."

Scott sighs, and turns to face the other three. Allison's the first to speak up. "We have to call an ambulance. Stiles needs to get to a hospital."

Stiles shifts minutely, and pins and needles shoot up his leg. He grabs on to the skin above his knee, and squeezes, hoping to distract himself from the pain lower. "I agree with Allison. Hospital, good. School with a raging psychopath, bad."

"Scott?"

Scott, for some reason, is in another world. He has his back to everyone and his hands are clenched.

"Scott, we really need to get out of here. I can't-" Stiles gasps for breath as he tries to shift to alleviate the numbness in his good leg. "Can't do this."

Finally, Scott does something. He makes a move towards the door. "No!" They all shout simultaneously.

"I have to do something," Scott says.

"We don't even know who it is," Allison pleads.

Scott glances over at Stiles, sweating and breathing through his clenched teeth. He gives Scott a slight nod, and Scott says, "It's Derek Hale."

"Derek Hale?" Jackson says.

"But why?" Allison asks. "Why does he want to kill us? It doesn't make sense."

Stiles pops in to say, "It doesn't have to make sense. He's trying to kill us 'cause he's insane. Now, start planning and get me out of here."

They all huddle, and though they hate it, allow Scott to do what he feels he must. Lydia makes him a Molotov cocktail with the chemicals in the supply cabinet, and Scott leaves them in the room.

"Can someone please call 9-1-1, like right now?" Stiles says.

Lydia and Allison both pull out their phones while Jackson stares at Stiles' ankle. "How did you twist it like that?" He asks.

Stiles shrugs. "I'm clumsy. I fall over nothing every day."

Jackson looks like he might put up a fight, so Stiles grabs his leg again and groans again. It works, and Jackson lays off.

Until they hear a massive roar that shakes their bones. Stiles yells out loud, the vibrations too much for him right now. He's waiting for something, anything, to distract him from the pain, but hurting himself further just isn't helping. Then, Scott somehow locks them all in the room.

Stiles pretty much gets yelled at until his dad and more cops show up. Stiles is wheeled out into an ambulance, and his dad follows in the cruiser. Scott runs after Allison, and Stiles leans his head back in the gurney.

"You okay?" His dad asks just before he's in.

Stiles nods. "I'm fine. Just a broken ankle and a bruised ego."

His dad laughs, and Stiles really wants to be able to laugh with him. For now, he suffers through the ride, the X-rays, and thankfully gets home within a few hours. He collapses on his bed, and since he's all dosed up on pain-meds (he thinks), falls asleep within seconds. 

* * *

Stiles wakes up to paper shuffling and someone writing in pen. He can hear the scraping of it somewhere near the vicinity of his desk. He rolls over, and proceeds to fall the hell back to sleep.

He wakes up a second time to the wind on his face and his dad opening his door. "I'm heading out. You need anything?"

"Uh, don't think so," Stiles responds, silently wondering how his window got open and what he should have for breakfast.

The Sheriff nods curtly. "Got it. See you tonight."

"See ya!" Stiles yells as his dad closes the door. He stands up, carefully now that he has his leg in a cast, and hobbles over to the window, all intentions on shutting it.

"Stiles, I swear to God, if you close that window." Stiles jumps back, and whines when he lands hard on his injured leg.

Derek sails through his open window, landing in a crouch. "Thanks."

Stiles sighs. "Least I can do, considering you're a on the run because of us." He shuffles back to his bed, and sits on it. That's when he gets a good look at his desk, and he realizes something. "You were here before."

Derek rolls his eyes, and plants himself on Stiles' chair, like he belonged there. "No one thinks to check the Sheriff's house for a fugitive."

"So smart," Stiles says, and heaves himself back on his feet. "Want any food since you're mooching off me?"

Derek shrugs. "Whatever."

Stiles' eye twitches. He opens and closes his mouth a few times while Derek keeps on reading. Stiles just leaves, craving some fried eggs for himself. He gets down the stairs with relative ease, albeit loudly, and reaches his destination.

It takes him only ten minutes from start to finish. He eats his eggs standing up, then begins the journey to get up the single flight of stars to his room so he can work on his homework. One could never be too careful. Tomorrow, he could get kidnapped by some gang and held for ransom.

So it's better to get the work done today.

After five steps, Stiles wants to give up and spend his recuperating weeks on these steps. He honestly thinks about it, when he hears footsteps get closer to the top of the stairs.

"What are you doing?" Derek asks, arms crossed across his chest.

"Sleeping," Stiles responds.

Derek sighs. Stiles could hear it from all the way down here. "I'm going to regret this, but why are you sleeping on the stairs?"

"Because my ankle is broken and I'm tired after eating eggs and there's an Alpha who's trying to get my best friend to kill his friends and I'm too young and pretty to die and..." By this point, Stiles is hyperventilating and his leg is throbbing. Black spots dance in his vision.

Derek grabs his arm, and hauls Stiles to his feet. He helps him to his room, and drops him on his bed. Stiles wants to say thanks, but passes out before he gets the chance.

Stiles wakes back up to an empty room. He doesn't think too much on it.


	3. Chapter 3

Stiles heals over the next few weeks. Derek comes by three more times, once showing his face the moment the Sheriff is out the door. Stiles doesn't even jump, just goes back to typing his paper.

They don't speak for a few hours, and by the time Derek does, Stiles is printing his finished paper. "How'd you break your ankle?"

"Why? It happened, like, a week ago," Stiles asks, sitting next to his printer.

Derek shrugs. "I'm curious."

"Strange curiosity." Stiles sighs. "I tripped while the Alpha was chasing us. That's all."

"That's all?" Derek repeats, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles throws his hands in the air. "What else is there?"

"You tell me."

Stiles turns away from him, and watches as his five pages slowly print out. He closes his eyes as he taps his fingers against his knee, refraining from turning around and kicking Derek in the face with his cast.

But when he looks, the window's open and Derek's gone.

The next time, Stiles finally gets his cast off, replaced with a less bulky brace, and he almost nails Derek with his car leaving the school parking lot. "Oh my God."

He gets out, and Scott appears at his side, helping Derek stand up. "What are you doing here?"

"I was shot," Derek says, looking very pale now that Stiles can really see him.

To Scott, Stiles says, "He's not looking so good, dude."

"Why aren't you healing?" Scott whispers, hoping the crowd forming wouldn't get too close.

"I can't. It was- it was a different kind of bullet." They kneel down next to him. Well, Scott does anyway. Stiles would rather stand and not get his throat torn out by an angry werewolf.

"A silver bullet?" Stiles asks, wondering if those stories were real or not.

"No, you idiot." Well, that's that.

Scott says, "Wait, wait. That's what she meant when she said you had 48 hours."

Derek looks up, alarmed. "What? Who- who said 48 hours?"

"The one who shot you." Stiles takes a step back as Derek curls in on himself, groaning. His eyes turn blue. "What are you doing? Stop that!" Scott says.

"I'm trying to tell you, I can't!" Derek's eyes keep flashing.

Scott looks around at the people beginning to walk over to the hold-up. "Derek, get up!" He looks at Stiles. "Help me put him in your car."

Stiles does, holding open the door for them, willing the curious teenagers to keep their distance. Derek gets in the car, and slams the door. Stiles goes around to the other side and jumps in. Derek leans out of the window and says, "I need you to find out what kind of bullet they used."

"How the hell am I supposed to do that?" Scott asks.

Derek nods his head over at Allison, staring at Stiles' Jeep. "'Cause she's an Argent. She's with them."

Scott, still facing Allison, says, "Why should I help you?" He turns back.

"Because you need me," Derek says, as if it's that simple.

"Fine," Scott says. "I'll try." He looks at Stiles, pleading. "Hey, get him out of here."

Stiles rolls his eyes. "I hate you so much," he says without much fire behind it. He shifts, and peels out of the lot. He resists glancing over at Derek much, who's white as a sheet and close to passing out if the way his head keeps lolling forward is any indication.

He winces when he gets another cut, this time on his knuckle. Stiles stares at it for a second, mesmerized by the fact that two seconds ago, someone out there got the same mark. His "soul mate". All he knows is that there's a bleeding spot on his own pale skin. He just wishes he had some band-aids.

"I smell blood," Derek says, disturbing the silence.

Stiles scoffs. "You kinda got shot."

"Not mine." Derek glares at him, and Stiles is tempted to hide his left hand. "What'd you do?"

Stiles shakes his head. "Nothing. Dry skin. Cracks sometimes."

"I don't believe you," Derek says.

"And why not?"

"Because you sound tired. Like you hate that it happens, but are helpless to stop it."

Stiles is frozen, sort of. He's biting his cheek from screaming, "Yes! Yes! I hate it and I wish it would stop! Having a soul mate sucks and I just want my own goddamn life back!" He exhales, and says, instead, "Yeah. My dad doesn't buy any lotion."

Derek rests his head against the headrest, and groans, grabbing his arm. Stiles may have threatened to beat him up and leave him on the side of the road a few minutes later, but he knows it wouldn't have happened. Not because Derek threatened him or whatever (that wouldn't have happened either), but because Stiles has never come so close to telling someone how much he hated having a soul mate.

* * *

Stiles is, thankfully, spared from having to saw someone's arm off, but he isn't spared from his father's wrath when he gets home. It wasn't Stiles' fault. He had no idea his dad would be home tonight.

"Is this what you do when I'm gone? Hmm? Go out all hours of the night?"

"No, dad," Stiles says, but he has a feeling he's just wasting his breath. He's said this multiple times since his dad started the lecture.

His dad sighs, runs a hand over his face, red with anger. "I just can't believe this."

"I didn't do anything illegal." Good phrasing. Because he was definitely doing something bad, close to the line of illegal. Then again, werewolves supposedly didn't exist, so any activities involving them didn't apply to the realm of the real world.

"I don't care. You weren't here when I got home, weren't picking up your phone, and didn't leave a note." Ah, makes more sense. Stiles gets it. His dad already lost his wife. If he lost his son too, Stiles doesn't even know what he would do.

Stiles stands up. "I'm sorry, dad."

He gets pulled into a hug immediately, and his dad's shaky breath scares Stiles. His dad is supposed to be a cop, worry about other people then his own delinquent son. He has an entire town resting (and depending) on his shoulders. Stiles decides to cut him some slack.

Some.

"This doesn't mean you're getting anything other than a salad and water for dinner tonight," Stiles says.

His dad laughs, shaking Stiles' frame. "We're getting pizza tonight," he pulls back, "with soda and fries."

"No fries," Stiles scold with a smile.

"Then mozzarella sticks. Try to stop me, son." Stiles wants to hear his dad laugh every day. He realizes his new mission. And then he clenches his hand as his left palm begins to bleed with a new cut. Much deeper than just a paper cut. Stiles runs into the kitchen, grabs a knife, and lets the knife clatter to the ground. "Goddamn soul mate".

"Ow!" He yelps, his hand under running water. The slice is straight across his palm, and Stiles can see the pink tissue underneath.

His dad rushes in, phone in hand, and curses. He hangs up, and grabs Stiles' hand. "Hospital, now."

Melissa's the one to receive them, and in half an hour, Stiles' (seven) stitches are done, wrapped and ready to go.

"Be careful next time," Melissa warns. Stiles smiles at her, the mother he wishes he had. Wants to have. (Might have.)

"Promise," he says as if it won't be broken in a few days, weeks, months. It's inevitable, unavoidable. But Stiles promises nonetheless.

Stiles walks out, flexing his fingers experimentally, and his dad taps his shoulder. "Ah." He wiggles a finger in Stiles' face. "Melissa told me that you have to minimize the amount of strain you put on your hand. Let it heal."

Stiles wants to tell him it wasn't his fault; it's some asshole somewhere in the goddamn world's fault. Either way, Stiles knows it's not the last time he's going to get hurt (might get hurt worse in the future) and allows his dad the momentary relaxation.

"So," Stiles says, "pizza?"

His dad laughs the entire time he drives to the pizza place. Stiles smiles and looks at his watch. Reads 1:34 am. Quota reached for the day.

* * *

Scott fusses over him for a few days. "Was it you?" is a new and popular phrase of his, and Stiles likes it better than "What happened?"

"No," he replies, his hand a claw of uselessness. Scott has to carry any books that won't fit in Stiles' backpack (not that he minds), and Stiles wants to press against his palm to distract himself from Harris' boring class.

He doesn't, survives, and the day passes like any other. Stiles gets home (driving sucks) and his dad is absent. Although, he can hear someone in his room.

Suspecting a certain werewolf who was supposed to be gone, Stiles goes into the kitchen and makes himself a snack, something to do while working on homework so he doesn't pick at his stitches.

He makes a bagel. He stands around until it's toasted to perfection, slathers cream cheese on it, then brings it up to his room, backpack slung over his shoulder. Derek's at his desk, unsurprising. Stiles just wasn't expecting him to be writing. He has to stand in the doorway, head tilted to the left, wondering what Derek could be writing, fixing, editing.

"Close your mouth," Derek demands. Stiles snaps it shut, unaware he had it open. He sets up on his bed (his desk is occupied), and sits with his back against the frame.

Stiles gets most of his homework done in the three hours Derek's sitting there. Still. "Don't you, you know, have a house you can squat in?"

"Argents," is the only response, goes back to reading, highlighting, note-taking.

"Apartment."

"Fugitive."

A game. This'll be fun.

"Scott."

A pause. "Melissa."

Stiles suppresses a grin. "She doesn't have a very consistent schedule, does she?"

Derek flips the page, eyes darting back and forth. "Short hours. Very aware of her house."

Stiles wants to say, "Allison," but he feels he may get thrown out of the window. (Wouldn't happen. Sure of it. Well, 75% sure.) "Deaton."

Derek looks up, confused. "Am I causing you problems?"

"No," Stiles says, a tad quickly, but what can you do. "Curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat."

"But satisfaction brought it back," Stiles shoots back.

"Are you purposely interrupting me or are you always like this?"

Stiles shrugs. "Depends on the day. Today is filled with purpose, though."

"Why?"

"Because Scott has his own problems. He cares about everything and anything. Sometimes too intensively. He needs help with his own problem right now. I seem to distract him than help him."

"You're distracting me." Derek still hasn't looked up at Stiles.

Another shrug. Derek doesn't see. Maybe he can hear it. "I want to rip my stitches out. Talking endlessly is easier and less painful."

"Not to me."

"Ha ha. Really funny." Stiles rubs the gauze on his hand gently. Not causing pain yet. No matter what Derek says. He sighs, exhaling all of the air from his lungs before filling them back up. He winces when he accidentally presses too hard.

Derek looks up, first time since Stiles entered the room hours ago, eyes fixed on Stiles' hands. Stiles notices, but he's out of the room and in the bathroom before Derek says or does anything.

"Dammit," Stiles mutters as he peels off the gauze, revealing the blood slowly pooling in his palm. He turns on the water, light flow, and rinses off his wound. He dries it quickly with a paper towel, wraps it lightly, then goes downstairs to find the extra gauze Melissa gave them. (Keep dry, clean with antibiotics, change gauze when needed.)

He finds it on the table, and carefully wraps it around his hand, taping it when he's done. He sighs, and takes a pain pill, swallowing it down with water. His hand's throbbing now. Should be. Might fall asleep soon. Should be careful.

Stiles figures out what happened when Derek's gently tugging on his arms. He fell asleep while walking up the stairs. Wow. Stiles sometimes forgets how quickly pain pills effect him, but he was sure he was just at the table, not two seconds ago.

He must've said as much, because Derek says, "You were down here for ten minutes. Found you sleeping on the stairs. Again."

Right. Stiles also broke his ankle a few weeks ago. Same thing happened, but instead of pills, he almost passed out on pain. He can't talk, his tongue's too heavy, and tries to help Derek walk him to his room.

The plus? His hand doesn't hurt anymore.

Stiles manages a slurred "Thanks," gets to watch Derek's fuzzy shadow return to Stiles' desk, and Stiles smiles and falls asleep.

He wakes up, sun in his eyes, and yawns. Right away, he knows something's wrong. His desk is clean, free of clutter. Laptop's directly in front of his chair, pens and pencils (sharpened) in the cup, sticky-notes neatly stacked on the left, and any books stacked on the right.

Stiles doesn't see Derek for a bit, so he can't say thanks. He forgets (but not really).


	4. Chapter 4

It's when Peter offers him the bite that he wonders it. What would happen to his "soul mate" if Stiles was a werewolf, or got turned into one? Would the other person just feel the pain of a bite, or would they turn too?

Nevertheless, Stiles rips his arm out of Peter's grasp before he could bite him, stares him down as Peter tells him what he already knows. No, Stiles doesn't want the bite. He wants to be equal.

Stiles stands there as Peter drives away, and looks down at his bent keys. He sighs, and slips them into his pocket.

Lydia.

Stiles can't stop Peter right now. He's just a human. He needs Scott. Who's probably at the hospital with Lydia. Who's in a coma and possibly dying.

He starts running.

* * *

The sight of the wolfed-out Alpha doesn't scare him. Scott lying on the ground does (even if it was only for a second, it still sent Stiles' heart racing). He throws the bottle at Peter, and the asshole caught it. Scott yells, then Peter's entire arm engulfs in flames when Allison shoots the bottle with an arrow. Jackson throws the second, and Peter's entire body is burning.

Stiles wants to celebrate, but the smell makes him gag. And then Derek's walking out of the house, towards Peter's still alive (and twitching) body. Stiles only watches as Derek looms over him.

A glance at Scott, and Stiles knows how this will end (and not in Scott's favor).

Derek lifts up his arm, claws extended, and swipes it down.

It finally ends.

("I'm the Alpha now," Derek growls in a weird, two-tone voice. Stiles has a weird feeling, as he stares at his newly red eyes, that it isn't the end.)

* * *

Funny enough (and oddly too soon), Stiles ends up crashing into Derek on the street a week after Derek turned into an Alpha, and only two days after Stiles broke his arm. (His own fault. He tripped going down the stairs. On his untied shoelace.)

"Hey, Derek," Stiles says warily.

Derek narrows his eyes. "Stiles." He glances at Stiles' arm. "What happened?"

Stiles lifts it up, glaring at it like it was his arm's fault he tripped. "This? I, uh..." Stiles quickly thinks of something to say. "Scott and I were having a strongman contest."

He raises an eyebrow. "Strongman."

"Yeah. Scott punched a hole in his wall, I knocked down a tree," Stiles says, smiling proudly, as if he actually committed the feat.

Derek doesn't even smile. "Funny. Too bad I was busy pushing over houses. I would've joined you."

It takes a moment to realize Derek made a joke. Then Stiles laughs. "Hey, look at you. Making jokes."

Derek rolls his eyes, but Stiles can see the corners of his lips turned up. Stiles just smiles wider. "Are you going to tell me how it happened?"

"Never."

Derek nods like he expected it, and Stiles hits his shoulder with his cast. His arm throbs and pain shoots it's way up Stiles' arm, but he gets to see Derek stumble, so it's definitely worth it.

* * *

Of course, it takes even longer until Stiles sees the werewolf again. Honestly, Stiles wants to say he hated him as much as Scott, but Derek has some humor under all that gruff (even if it's a bit dry).

Stiles feels... all Stiles wants to do is take Derek apart, examine his memories, feel what he felt when Derek was told his entire family burned to death in a fire besides his uncle (who had been in a coma with burns covering half of his body) and his sister.

It's probably horrible of him to feel that, but Stiles is interested. It probably has to do with the fact that he has a "soul mate" who can hurt Stiles, and Stiles feels like part of his life is being controlled, so he wants to take control of someone else's, for some reason. Scott still refuses to say his name or even talk about Derek. It makes Stiles laugh sometimes, and he knows Scott doesn't understand. Maybe one day.

Speaking of, Scott and Allison are now seeing each other in secret. On one hand, Stiles hates seeing them give each other heart-eyes all day, but the other is genuinely happy to see Scott so happy. It's not like Stiles will ever find his "soul mate."

Which he hasn't. And he totally feels nothing. (It sucks. Stiles wants to just cut this bond if he's never going to meet the goddamn person. It's a waste of his time.)

Stiles doesn't want the knowledge that someone out there is "meant" to be with him. It makes wanting to date other people really difficult, even when Stiles knows he can do it if he wanted to. It's like something nagging on the back of his head whenever someone cute smiles at him.

No no no no, it says. Not right. Not right for you. Check. Test. Not yours. Not for you.

Stiles wants to beat his brain into submission on good days. He endures it, though. Even as he and the Sheriff grow farther apart. Stiles knows what caused it (lying, sneaking around, shutting him out), and he wants it to stop.

He just doesn't know how.

* * *

He hates the plan for many reasons. It's not safe for civilians, Isaac might try and kill them (him), and the fact that Derek's silent in the seat next to him as they drive to the police station. While he respects the fact that Derek wants to stay quiet, Stiles is jittery, rerunning every possible thing that could go wrong in his head.

It's almost too much. Stiles can feel the beginnings of a headache form behind his eyes. He suffers through it, blinking more times in a minute than he should, and hopes Derek will continue the cold shoulder treatment.

Sadly, he doesn't.

"What are you doing?" Derek asks, while still looking out the window.

Stiles sighs, and fidgets in his seat, gripping the steering wheel just a little bit tighter. His cast digs into his hand and pain blooms from the pressure. "What are you talking about? I'm not doing anything but driving."

Derek gives him a look. Stiles doesn't like the look. In fact, he tosses one right back at him. Derek says, "You're heart's beating pretty fast for someone who's 'just driving'."

Stiles doesn't have an answer. He wants to stay quiet for the rest of the ride, but then something happens that pushes him right off the edge.

He gets a paper cut.

"ARE YOU ACTUALLY KIDDING ME? CAN YOU GO ONE DAY WITHOUT GETTING HURT, YOU ASSHOLE?! LIKE SERIOUSLY IS YOUR HOUSE FULL OF PIECES OF PAPER FLYING AROUND THAT SLICE YOUR HANDS UP EVERY SINGLE GODDAMN DAY?!"

Stiles had pulled over immediately when it happened, and would be satisfied by Derek's head hitting the window. Stiles gets out of the car, and paces for a bit, good hand running through his hair. He bits at the side of his finger that doesn't have a scab on it, and actually forgets there is someone else in the car and they have to be somewhere.

"Stiles?" Derek asks from the other side of the hood.

He looks at him, and Stiles just stares back. The nagging in his head is there, but more stubborn, like, he's not the one you know. Just saying. Shouldn't go for it. Not the one. Very quiet for some reason, and Stiles takes deep breaths to calm himself down.

"Drive," Stiles says as he walks past Derek and into the passenger seat. Derek doesn't pause, and just puts the car in drive and they reach the police station.

By that time, Stiles built his wall again, and everything was(n't) going to be fine.

(If the sight of Derek roaring at Isaac, and subsequently Isaac backing down, makes Stiles' heart race for a completely different reason besides anger, well only he has to know.)


	5. Chapter 5

Stiles doesn't know why he cuts though the pool, but he regrets it as Derek and Erica come into view. He wishes he had the keys to grip in his hand as he sighs.

Derek looks like he did a few weeks ago when he saw him, just with a bit more scruff. Stiles' arm is now in a splint, and by the end of next week, he'll be in the clear. Too bad that's not what he needs to be focusing on. This is one of those times Stiles wishes he was a normal teenager; wanting to only worry about a broken arm and not about possibly getting paralyzed by a giant man-sized lizard-thing.

He hates to admit what Derek popping the basketball does to him. (So he won't admit it. Too difficult to think about anyway. It's not fair.) But as he describes the lizard-thing to them, he feels the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end.

Stiles also doesn't want to admit that it might've been his fault Derek got paralyzed. (Half was, half wasn't. Derek's a goddamn werewolf. Seriously.) He helps drag Derek away from the lizard-thing, but then someone's calling his phone and ends up dropping Derek in the pool trying to answer it. (He's allowed to get away with that. He's only human, after all.)

Abandoning his still-ringing phone, he jumps into the pool, grabbing Derek by the shirt and pulling him to the surface. Shit's difficult considering his arm's still in a splint.

"I hate you," Stiles says, spitting water out of his mouth.

"What's new?" Derek says, trying to keep his head above the waves.

Stiles groans. "You're such a baby." The lizard thing circles around the pool, and then Stiles loses sight of it. "Where'd it go? Can you hear anything?"

Derek looks around (without moving his head) and listens. "I can't. There's water in my ear."

"Oh my God, of course you do. The only one out of the two of us who can has super werewolf hearing has water in their ears!" Stiles shouts.

"Yes, because yelling in my ear is really helping right now."

"I swear to God, when we get out of this pool..."

"You'll what? Talk me to death? You've done that plenty of times already."

Stiles honestly considers dropping him, but then remembers that his dad would have to deal with the fact that his son would be at the sight of another dead body. He puts too much stress on him, so Stiles tries to keep them afloat.

"I'm going to get my phone," Stiles announces after two hours of silence.

"Don't you dare," Derek says.

"I have to try," Stiles responds. "I need to get Scott down here. I can't keep doing this much longer."

"I'm the only thing keeping you alive."

Stiles chuckles. "No, the water is." Then Stiles gasps. "The thing can't swim. That's why it hasn't attacked us." Stiles whoops, splashing the water with his good hand. "Figured it out."

"You figured nothing out." Derek sighs. Stiles stays silent. He has to try for the phone. "Don't do it."

Stiles throws him. He hears Derek yell "Stiles!" before he descends. Stiles hopes he can get to him in time. He's almost there when he hears hissing. The lizard thing is off to the right, so Stiles swims faster, aiming for his phone. He grabs it, and backs up before the lizard thing claws him.

He taps Scott's name, and calls. He gets hung up on, and gapes. He glances at Derek at the bottom, and has no choice but to throw his phone and dive down. Stiles grabs Derek by the shirt and pulls him back up.

"Did you get Scott?"

Stiles doesn't answer, a reply all in itself. His phone's at the bottom of the pool by now, and Stiles is already dreading having to buy a new one without letting his dad know. He'll have to lie. Again. Stiles sighs.

They spend another half hour in silence, until Stiles realizes he's losing feeling in his arms. He tells Derek to keep an eye out for the lizard thing, and starts pulling him towards the ends of the pool.

Stiles grabs it, but his wet and numb fingers lose it, and they're both under the water, slowly going down. Stiles doesn't know if he's really about to die, but all he can do is close his eyes-

And get pulled out of the water. He lands on concrete, and kisses it once. He's relieved he didn't have time to start thinking about everything before Scott pulled him out. Scott, by the way, roars at the lizard thing, and Scott grabs a piece of the mirror that broke when the lizard thing threw him into the mirror. The lizard thing takes one look at the reflection and launches itself through the glass roof.

While Derek's off doing whatever ten minutes later, Stiles and Scott search the USB, which is apparently the bestiary. It's not written in a language either of the know, and Stiles isn't even sure if it is a language.

"It's a kanima," Derek says, appearing behind the two of them.

Stiles glares at him. "You knew the entire time?"

"Only when it didn't recognize it's own reflection."

"It doesn't know what it is," Scott concludes.

"Or who," Derek adds.

"What else do you know?" Stiles asks, sick of the secrets the two of them keep from each other.

"Just stories, rumors."

Stiles immediately wants to know what stories, but Scott interrupts. "But it's like us?"

"A shape-shifter, yes. But it's- it's not right. It's like a-"

"An abomination," Stiles completes. He sighs, and shakes the arm in a splint. He turns his back, unable to look at anyone right now, and closes his eyes.

He wants one night of peace. No werewolves, no kanimas, no lies, and especially no "soul mate". He almost wants to go back to being ignorant, but he know he would miss out on all this "fun".

Stiles just doesn't think one night would kill anyone.

(He, of course, never gets it.)

* * *

Lydia's party doesn't get started until Stiles calls his friends from the gay club. That's, of course, when everything goes to hell. It's not fair, really, that Scott and Stiles try so hard to keep this town from being destroyed pretty much every week, but when the universe keeps throwing them curve balls, well Stiles gets a little pissed.

So he drinks Lydia's "special" punch. (Very strong. Stiles feels it almost immediately.) He gets wasted. And then his dad storms in, bottle in hand (much more strong than what's in Stiles' cup), eyes red, dressed in black.

Something about a funeral. (It's hard to remember now. Most of this night passes with a hard-hitting blur.) Stiles listens as his dad, his only family member left and his father, talks about how Stiles was the one to kill Claudia. And how Stiles was now killing his own dad, and in Stiles' head, he believed him.

And when his dad throws the bottle at his head, Stiles ducks, tears falling down his face. But when he looks back up, no one's there. No father yelling at him, no one staring at him besides a few wandering eyes.

He sits at the edge of the pool, and lets his mind blank out. It's refreshing, until he thinks about his father.

Stiles has been lying to him all year. Even before that, with all the "soul mate" stuff. He's never told his dad where all the mysterious cuts and bruises come from. Hell, his dad didn't even know most of what happened to him. And then there's the whole werewolf thing.

His head bangs back against the pillar.

He thinks he should just sit here until the end of time as punishment for being a shitty son, and refuses Scott's assistance. He doesn't exactly know what Scott's saying until some girl dunks his head under water. (He remembers the rest of the night after that.)

Stiles actually wishes he didn't. But then he wouldn't know that Matt's the kanima's master.

Or that his dad didn't trust him.

* * *

Stiles figures now that Scott's mom knows that Scott's a werewolf, he should tell her about the whole "soul mate" thing. She never questioned him before, not with the broken arm, twisted ankle, or cut hand. He just hopes that she will understand that yes he's clumsy, but it's not always him.

It's when it feels like he's been shot that he thinks it's time. A massive bruise appears on his side, and one of his ribs might be cracked. He tries not to take deep breaths as he drives to the hospital. It still doesn't help.

Melissa's not at the desk when he arrives. Stiles asks for her, and one of the other nurses calls for her. "She'll be here in a few minutes. Take a seat."

He does, slowly and carefully. He rests his head against the wall, and keeps his hand on his ribs, trying to keep his breathing even a shallow so the pain won't overwhelm him. He can't pass out right now.

"Stiles?" Melissa calls out. He looks up as she puts down the clipboard she was holding. "What's wrong? What happened?"

Stiles lifts up his shirt, and Melissa gasps. "Just," Stiles says, but can't say anything more. The pain is making his head swirl, and black spots dance in front of him.

Melissa helps him stand up, and Stiles groans. She gets him to the nearest room, and lays him down. She lifts his shirt again, and prods his side. "Stiles, I need you to tell me what happened."

"I don't know," Stiles says truthfully. "I need to tell you something."

She takes her stethoscope and places the end of it on the skin above the bruise. She listens to his breathing, and sighs. "Stiles, you have two cracked ribs. How did it happen?"

"I don't know," he says again. "Remember when I came in a while ago with a split palm. You had to put in seven stitches."

"Yeah," she says, wrapping the stethoscope around the back her neck. "Your dad said you cut it with a knife by accident."

Stiles smirks. "Not exactly. I didn't cut myself. I also didn't twist my ankle back when we were all inside the school."

"So, what happened then?"

Stiles shrugs. "It's been happening since I was a kid. I would get randomly hurt and it wasn't me. A bruise on me leg, paper cut on my hands, broken limbs."

"Someone hurt you? Who?"

"No," Stiles quickly reassures. "No, no, no. Nothing like that. No." He rubs his hands together. "I didn't know what was happening for so long, and then Deaton-"

"Scott's boss?"

"Yeah. I had dropped Scott off, but I went inside for something, and I got a paper cut. Well, Deaton saw, realized it wasn't me and told me I had a 'soul mate'."

Melissa raises an eyebrow. She's silent for a while, until she shakes her head, and says, "A soul mate?"

Stiles nods. "Yeah. I didn't want to believe it, but it was the only other explanation for it. Plus, it kept happening."

"Do you know who it is?"

He smiles. "No idea."

"Okay." She claps her hands once, and turns around. "Awesome. Let's get you X-rayed." She heads out of the door to a phone. Stiles sighs, and closes his eyes until she comes back in, this time with a wheelchair. "They're ready for you." She helps him into it, and wheels him out and into the radiography room. Melissa helps him sit on the table, and smiles at the doctor in charge.

She leaves with a small wave and an smaller smile.

Stiles is overjoyed that he didn't just make a huge mistake.


	6. Chapter 6

He leaves the hospital with two cracked ribs, exactly what Melissa said, and orders to take it easy for a while. The doctor had asked him if he had been shot over a bullet-proof vest, because apparently that's what cops commonly come in with.

Stiles lies easily (doesn't even remember it. Probably something about dogs or stairs), and he's on his way with gauze wrapped around his entire midsection. He can barely move, but makes it home in one piece. He has enough energy to get upstairs and into his bed before he falls asleep.

Waking up extremely early in the morning is no fun. Stiles is still tired, and his mouth and throat are dry. The clock reads 4:50 in the morning, and yet Stiles can't fall back to sleep, no matter what his brain is telling him. So he stands, rubbing his eyes, stretching his body.

That's when he remembers what happened. His ribs scream in protest as he curls back in on himself, the pain bringing fresh tears to his eyes. He stifles a groan, and grabs the bed post, steadying himself.

"Son of a..." He whispers, clutching his side, trying not to grab too hard to prevent more pain. He sighs, and starts walking towards his door. It opens without a sound, and Stiles looks down the hall to see his dad's door closed, too.

Stiles and stairs just don't go together well, so he takes them on one step at a time. By the time he reaches the bottom, his side's on fire and he's sweating around his forehead and neck. He shuffles into the kitchen, and grabs the pain pills he's too used to taking, and swallows two with a glass of water.

He ends up sticking his head under the faucet for a while, just to cool down after the trek down the stairs. He swipes a towel from the counter, and dries his hair. He dreads the thought of walking back up those, stairs, so he throws the towel back onto the counter and sits on the couch.

The TV is never turned on, and Stiles falls asleep.

* * *

It's been years since Stiles last had a nightmare. Back when his mother was sick and when Stiles and his dad had no idea what to do after her death. His dad would rush in, hold him close to his chest, let Stiles fall back asleep listening to his heartbeat.

This morning's different because his dad's not here. Early shift. Stiles wakes up screaming, clothes drenched in sweat. His throat and side are sore, and he's out of breath. That's when he realizes there are hands on his shoulders and a face in front of his. He leans back, and Derek's face comes into view.

"Stiles? You okay?" He asks.

Now Stiles is confused, and blinks to clear his eyes of tears. "What-" His throat scratches, and Derek pulls away to go into the kitchen, only to reappear with a glass of water. Stiles drinks half, takes a break, then downs the rest. "I was going to ask what happened, but that seems stupid in retrospect. Why are you here is much more appropriate."

Derek sits on the coffee table in front of Stiles. He sighs, and stares at him. "I heard you screaming. I came over to make sure you were alright."

"You heard me from your apartment?" Stiles asks.

Derek shakes his head. "No. I heard you from the Preserve."

"Why were you there?"

He pauses, and Stiles narrows his eyes. "Not important. Are you sure you're okay?" Derek asks as he stands up.

Stiles looks up at him, looking too tall. So Stiles stands up with him, and hunches over in pain when he remembers he was "shot". Derek grabs his flailing arm, and lowers him back on to the couch. "Wow, that hurt a lot," Stiles mutters.

"What happened?" Derek demands, trying to see the problem without crossing any boundaries. Stiles mentally applauds him for that.

Stile grins. "I, apparently, got shot."

Derek freezes, and Stiles rolls his eyes. Before he can get a word out, Derek growls. Low and deep enough that Stiles' bones practically rattle. "Who? Argent? Hunters?"

"What? No," Stiles immediately says. "No hunters, and definitely not Argent." Stiles shifts in place, suddenly realizing the corner he backed himself into. "It's just-" He then lifts his shirt, showing the gauze wrapped around his midsection. "Right." He forgot about that. "Well, under all this, is an injury that looks a lot like a police officer's when they get shot over a bullet-proof vest."

Derek's growl lowers, and Stiles cocks his head. Why was Derek growling in the first place? Maybe it's a Pack thing. Anger for any hurt member, or something. Stiles puts it with the fragments of his nightmare.

"Why were you wearing a bullet-proof vest and getting shot at?" Derek sounds like he's using all of his energy into not punching Stiles in the nose.

"Uh..." And now decision-making time. To tell or not to tell. Telling could cause unknown consequences. One of them is how Derek's going to react. Stiles frowns, wondering why he would care what Derek thinks, and figures it has something to do with the fact that he would rather dictate his own love-life, and having this "soul mate" really puts a damper on things. Wait-

Stiles just thought "love-life" and "Derek" in the same thought. And now that he's really thinking about it, his little nagging voice that tells him to steer clear of people doesn't usually nag as much when Stiles thinks about Derek. Okay, props for progress on that part of his brain. But he need to focus on the now.

If Stiles told Derek he has an unknown "soul mate", then it would clear up the whole "Stiles is a clumsy asshole who has two left feet" thing. He would know it wasn't always Stiles' fault when he got hurt.

"Um," Stiles tries again, licking his dry lips with a dry tongue. Damn. Something so easy shouldn't be so difficult. Just say- "It's not my fault."

Derek stares at him, waiting for him to go on. When Stiles doesn't, he says, "What does that mean?"

"It means when I get hurt, sometimes it's not my fault." He holds up his hands. "These paper-cuts aren't mine." Stiles motions to his side. "This isn't my bruise." He opens his palm, shows Derek the pink scar. "I didn't cut myself."

Derek's stare shifts from Stiles' face to his hand. Stiles thanks Melissa for the quick and clean stitches, but the cut was deep, deep enough where he would always carry it with him. Stiles has a marker, and it makes knowing that someone out there has the same exact injuries as him both scares and interests him. It also irritates him, but for a whole other reason.

"If you didn't do them, then who did?" Derek asks, startling Stiles.

Stiles shrugs. "No idea." He gulps, could leave it at that, but knows it's not enough. Now or never, Stilinski. "I went with Scott to the animal clinic once last year. Deaton told me that I, uh," he swallows, "that I have a "soul mate"."

And when Stiles thinks Derek's going to just up and leave, Derek stands, but doesn't leave. "Soul mate?"

Stiles nods, once. Doesn't say anything else. His tongue is on the verge of choking him, and that's (not) going to be an awesome header to a newspaper: "Boy dies choking on own tongue in front of crush."

Derek sighs, sounding so utterly defeated, and shakes his head. "Wow. That's... awesome."

The word may have been said quietly, but Stiles feels like it punched him in the gut, and then the brain. Which is a really weird combination.

"Awesome? Don't you remember me going off when we had to get to the police station for Isaac? Was that awesome?" Stiles is seething, because having a "soul mate" is the opposite of awesome. It's painful and annoying and downright- Stiles doesn't have a word for it yet, but he feels violated, in a way.

Derek chuckles, but it's dark and humorless. "You'll have someone who'll love you for the rest of your life."

"No I don't! What the hell are you talking about? I don't even know who it is! How am I supposed to love someone I don't know?! Huh? Tell me, cause I'd love to hear it!" Stiles wants to run, run until he can't, and then run home. He's numb and wired at the same time, and then he feels something bump into his leg. He falls onto the couch, and prods at his hip. Another goddamn bruise.

Stiles closes his eyes, and rests his head on the back of the couch, muttering to the sky, "Oh my God. One goddamn day. I will give you my kidneys, liver, anything you want if you will just one go day without getting hurt. I swear to every god and goddess out there."

Derek sits down in a chair. "It happened again?"

Stiles nods. "Yup. Asshole probably ran into a desk or something. I just-" Stiles breathes deep, in and out. When he speaks again, he sounds tired and frustrated. "It's literally every day. Today it's a bruised leg, tomorrow it'll be another goddamn paper-cut or bloody nose or-" He scrubs his hands over his face and through his hair. One arm rests on top of his head while the other flops down onto the couch.

They stay silent. Stiles is glad for it.

At least twenty minutes later, Derek flicks his forehead. Stiles whines and rubs at the spot. "I was meditating. What?"

Derek chuckles, and there's a real smile there. "C'mon. We're getting lunch."

"Ooh," Stiles says, standing and rubbing his hands together. His side hurts, but he can handle it. "Where?"

"New place. It's called My Apartment." Derek smirks at Stiles' frown. "Really good, cheap, food, and there'll be a ton of people you already know there."

"Asshole," Stiles says as he pulls on his jacket and shoes. "I was really excited there was some mysterious restaurant only werewolves could go to because you need a claw to unlock the door." Stiles' shoulders droop. "Or maybe you have to roar to make rocks fall down and reveal the entrance. Or-"

He keeps it up the entire time. And yes, he knows Derek's just entertaining him.

Still, for now, Stiles is happy. (Goes to hell that Friday, but he gets what he can for the time being.)

* * *

Gerard's punches don't hurt as much as his ribs. His face hurts, yeah, but his entire lower body is pretty much in blinding pain. His ribs might be broken (again) after falling down the stairs. Gerard kicks him, and hearing Erica and Boyd whine behind him actually pains him.

All he knows is that he can't tell him where Derek is. No. Don't do it. Bad.

"Where is he?" Gerard demands, holding him by the collar.

Stiles grabs at his hands. "I don't know!"

Gerard growls, not unlike a werewolf, and releases one hand on Stiles' shirt to grab his jaw. "You're going to tell me. I can do this for a very long time. But how long can you keep it up? He's not even your Alpha. Not even your friend. We can get rid of him. Scott would be safe." Gerard's tone changes so quickly that Stiles' head spins. He has to blink to keep up with the conversation.

Gerard continues. "Lydia could go on to be whatever she wanted. Melissa wouldn't have to worry about her son's death every day. Your father would be safe."

"Don't you dare-"

"Oh, no. Of course not. Not Sheriff Stilinski. Who had no idea about the supernatural beings living right under his nose. He wouldn't have to get hurt at all. Not if you tell us where Derek is."

Stiles wants to be angry, wants to fight with all his might against Gerard. He wants to forget all that Gerard said, because hunters don't hurt humans, and continue getting beat. Derek doesn't deserve to be given up because Stiles gave up.

That's what he wants.

That's not what happens.

* * *

Yes, he screamed when he ran into the kanima. It's not entirely his fault, considering it actually was Jackson (who may be a douche bag, but running him over in a car? Big fat no.) So yes. Lydia was more composed than him, but that doesn't even say a lot.

He gets to witness, from the sidelines with Scott, Lydia call out Jackson's name, and Jackson stop what he's doing to stare at the key Lydia dangles in front of him. Watches as Jackson de-"kanimizes", and is now naked. Stiles rolls his eyes.

He turns his head to the side as they hug, and realizes his mistake when it happens.

Derek (now recovered) and Peter (appearing magically) spear Jackson with their claws in his stomach as soon as Jackson steps away. Lydia screams, and runs to Jackson as Derek and Peter let him drop to the ground. Stiles' focus is pulled between Derek and Jackson and Lydia.

"Do you still-" Jackson whispers.

Lydia nods. "Yes. Yes I still love you." Stiles gapes as Lydia lays Jackson on the ground, and starts crying into her hands.

"What-" Stiles starts to say to Derek, but then there's movement and groans from the middle of the floor, and Jackson is standing up, still naked, and looks up at the ceiling to roar. He's a werewolf now, eyes blue for a reason Stiles doesn't know.

Gerard's gone, a puddle of black goo left in his wake. Stiles has a feeling he won't get far, but it does nothing to stop the stinging in his body. In fact, it intensifies thinking about the old hunter.

Stiles starts moving towards his jeep, and Scott looks at him. "What?"

Scott gives him a look. Stiles isn't sure he likes that look. "Nothing. Just tired." Scott smiles, albeit with the look. Stiles smiles back, no matter what his brain is telling him. (Shut up and get home. You have a lot to think about.)

For once, he listens to his head.


	7. Chapter 7

_(Goes AU from here on out: No Alpha pack = Ms. Blake not Darach, no Cora ;_;, Boyd and Erica left for another Pack)_

 _Okay I love all of you so I should remind you I am a sterek shipper so whatever happens please remember that_

* * *

A month passes. Stiles, Scott, Allison, Jackson, and Lydia all take and pass their midterms (Scott barely), and then Allison's gone. Left for France with her father (after breaking up with Scott). Jackson leaves for a Pack in London. Stiles barely sees Lydia over summer break, and Scott has the other werewolves to worry about. (Isaac, plus Derek and Peter by extension.)

Stiles doesn't mind. He's been under heavy guard since his dad found out (about everything. Stiles was tired of lying, and Scott was happy to help). Probably thinks werewolves are dangerous. The only thing his dad doesn't know is the whole "soul mate" situation. That's completely Stiles' business. His dad doesn't need to worry about it at all.

Another two weeks pass. Stiles still gets the daily bruise or cut, and doesn't whine about it. It's a waste of breath anyway considering he has no one to whine to. His dad's out for the entire day, Scott has Isaac to train (probably in the Preserve), and Lydia's doing whatever Lydia does when she's not dealing with the supernatural.

Two weeks pass. Stiles does nothing but stare at his scar-riddled hands and bruised hips.

By the middle of summer break, Stiles does a strange motion with his torso, and almost breaks his neck falling down the stairs. Honestly, it would at least give him some entertainment.

One month before school starts again, Stiles goes for a walk. He walks through town, then into Beacon Hills Preserve. Why? He's really not sure until he's in front of the old Hale house.

Charred and yet still magnificent to look at. He lightly traces his fingers over the wooden door, so fragile, and pushes it open. Inside is the same. Stiles can see the blood stain from Kate Argent's death, even so many months later. He shoves his hands inside his jacket pocket, and stares at the roots starting to grow through the wooden floor.

"You're not supposed to be here."

Stiles jumps, and glares at Derek. "Why not? It's not your house anymore. You aren't even supposed to be here." Wow. He realizes what he said when Derek's face falls, just for a second, before he covers it.

"So, what you're saying is," Derek says, arms crossing over his chest, "that neither of us belong here?"

Stiles cocks his head to the left. This conversation just turned on a dime and now he's confused. "Uh, sure."

Pursing his lips, Derek nods. "I see." He looks around the remains of the living room, small, sad smile on his face. Stiles shifts on his feet, unsure what to do or say. He digs his nails into his palm on impulse, and is speechless when Derek absently rubs his palm.

Stiles gulps, heart starting to race when he doesn't want it to. Derek looks up at him, and Stiles is a deer in the headlights. He gulps again, and smiles. "Well, not that this isn't fun and all, but I'm just gunna..." He starts edging towards the door, and starts to walk outside when Derek makes no move to stop him.

"Motherfu-" He jumps again as Peter appears in the doorway, smug smile on his face.

"Stiles. Nice to see you again." Peter takes a step into the house, and Stiles maneuvers himself so he doesn't touch him as he walks out.

Stiles doesn't say anything back. He hears Peter laugh, but by the time either of the werewolves start talking, Stiles is back in the woods. He wishes for headphones. Nature isn't anything interesting.

A few days before school starts, Scott decides he wants a tattoo. Stiles joins him, faints, and is simultaneously grossed out and finds it hilarious that Scott's tattoo disappeared. Scott doesn't think it's so funny.

The night before school starts, Stiles and Scott go out, and they see Lydia and Allison. Scott stares at her, and Stiles watches with half-glee, half-mortification on Scott's behalf. Allison finally notices who's next to their car, and Scott immediately demands Stiles drive through the red light.

Instead, he rolls down the window. "Hey ladies!" He calls out.

Lydia speeds off so fast he can hear the tires squeal from inside his own car.

Scott puts his head in his hands, and sighs. Stiles sighs with him, and puts a hand on his shoulder, not saying anything. He knows.

* * *

The Sheriff texts him when he's in class that the new deputy is going to have dinner with them tonight. Stiles types out a quick got it and resumes ignoring the lesson.

The new teacher, Ms. Blake, is actually alright. But Stiles guesses not being (or having) evil usually leads to good things. At least the school isn't being overrun by Argents anymore. The security cameras were taken down, and the new principal is far better than the last. Although, considering the last principal was Gerard, a piece of toast would have done a better job.

They go to Derek after school, figuring since he had a tattoo that he would help Scott. When he pulls out a flamethrower, Stiles suddenly feels faint.

"Oh, flame- flamethrower. Always a good choice. You know, four out of five werewolves recommend this as the number one way to get a tattoo." Stiles is blabbering, but he can't seem to stop.

Derek turns to him. "It works." He looks at Scott. "It does."

Scott draws what he wants, and when it finally comes down to it, Derek yells at Stiles to help hold him down, even though Stiles was perfectly comfortable on the other side of the room. He does as he's told, and Scott ends up passing out.

Derek finishes the tattoo, and shuts off the flamethrower.

"How long will he be out?" Stiles asks, glancing at his watch.

Derek shrugs. "Maybe a few minutes. Why?"

Stiles looks at his watch again. "My dad invited the new deputy over for dinner. Which starts in exactly ten minutes." Stiles chuckles with no enthusiasm.

"Oh," Derek says, frowning. "If you want, you can go. I can drive Scott home."

Then Stiles gets a weird itchy feeling on his side. He scratches at it, but it doesn't stop. It moves, goes up his side and into his chest. Then keeps going until it's at the base of his throat. He doesn't like it, and, more importantly, doesn't want to go home.

Tears start to prick at his eyes. Stiles gasps, and falls to the ground, fingers gripping the floor. He's crying (pretty heavily) and it came from out of nowhere.

"What happened? What did you do?" Stiles hears Scott say, though too distantly. Scott sounds too far away. Scott's supposed to be here, in this room, healing. Where is he?

Stiles doesn't realize that he's been saying all this out loud, and Scott kneels down and taps Stiles' fingers. "Stiles? I'm right here. What's wrong? Are you okay? Stiles?"

Stiles' eyes clamp shut, but open when Scott places a hand on the back of his neck. It stops the itching, stops the tears, even returns his heartbeat to normal.

"Scott?" Stiles whispers.

"Yeah. I'm right here. Stiles," Scott whispers back, and Stiles is exhausted. He leans against Scott, who catches him easily. "You okay?"

Stiles nods, then yawns. "I don't know what happened."

"It's fine. You're fine," Scott reassures, then lifts Stiles up to his feet. "Let's get you home."

Stiles nods, then promptly passes out.

* * *

He could've sworn he smelled pancakes and bacon (the fatty kind that creates a lot of grease). But apparently, Stiles is alone in his house, and going to be late for school if he doesn't get his ass in motion pronto. He's just glad Scott bought that dirt bike he'd been pining for.

As he's heading out the door, he spies a piece of paper he didn't notice before. He grabs it, reading it as he walks to the Jeep.

"Stiles, Scott told me about last night. Hope you feel better. -Dad."

He's going to have to talk to Scott to get his cover story. When he gets to school, Scott's bike is there, but no sign of him yet. Stiles shakes it off, and finds Lydia, standing at her locker.

"Hey, Lydia. How was your break?"

Lydia slams her locker shut, and smiles. "It was great."

Stiles waits for her to keep going, but she's looking over his shoulder, and playing with a section of her hair. He glances back, and sighs. "What the hell?"

A group of freshmen boys are by their lockers, and Lydia looks like she's going to eat them. Hell, if some of the go missing, Stiles will know where to look.

"Leaving now," Stiles says as he walks in the opposite direction of Lydia. He passes Allison as he walks to his homeroom, smiling and waving at her. She smiles back, and tucks a strand of hair behind her ear.

Scott runs into homeroom two minutes late, and is scolded by the teacher. Stiles is about to ask where he'd been when the bell cut him off. When he goes to ask again, Scott is gone.

Stiles really shouldn't be surprised.

* * *

"How're you feeling?" His dad asks as soon as he steps into the house.

"Fine. Just didn't get enough water in me." Scott had told Stiles' dad he fainted from dehydration and needed water and rest. Stiles doesn't know why, but he doesn't bother questioning it. "Sorry about ruining dinner last night."

His dad waves a hand. "No worries. It was just a 'get-to-know-you' type of thing. New deputy and all."

"Who is it?" Stiles asks as he grabs an apple, biting into it.

"His name's Parrish. Uh, Jeremy Parrish. You okay?"

When Sheriff said "Parrish", Stiles stopped breathing. Then the full name sent Stiles into a coughing fit. He grabs the kitchen counter for support.

"Stiles? Do you need water?" But his dad grabs a glass and fills it before Stiles says anything, shoving it in his hands. "Drink."

Stiles doesn't feel any better now then he did five seconds ago. "I need to-" Stiles stumbles a bit as he tries to get upstairs. "Bed."

His dad helps him, and leaves with the promise of bringing dinner up to him at six, three hours from now. With three deep breaths, Stiles sits up, and then heaves himself off the bed. His limbs feel heavy and sluggish, but he shrugs off his school clothes, puts on pajamas, throws open the window, and lets the air wash over him. He pulls his seat over, and sits there, relaxing against the open window.

Too much sleeping, he realizes as he jolts awake with a hand on his shoulder. And then he feels a full body chill overcome him. He rubs at his shoulders.

"Stiles?"

"Derek? Why are you in my room?" Then Stiles looks around. "Why am I not in my room?" He's in the Preserve. "Why am I standing in front of your old house? What the hell just happened?"

Derek glares at him. "You're the one who just wandered out here."

"Wait," Stiles says, "why are you out here?"

Derek holds his gaze for as long as he can, but it drops. "Not important."

"Clearly it's important enough to come all the way out here in freezing weather instead of holing up in your apartment."

Derek doesn't waver, looking Stiles straight in the eye. "Go home, Stiles. You're going to catch a cold."

Stiles toes the ground, and that's when the wind picks up and almost lifts him off his feet. "Woah." Stiles shakes, and then coughs. His side prickles with a phantom pain, and he taps his fingers against his leg. "Can you give me a ride home by any chance?"

"I ran here." Derek would do that. Stiles groans, his stomach flipping over. "Are you okay?"

"Fine," he says, but he's most definitely not. His entire body is cold and in pain. He's tired, his dad probably has SWAT looking for him because his window's open and he's supposed to be in bed, and this Parrish guy might be his "soul mate."

"Derek?" Stiles asks, jaw hurting from grinding his teeth too hard. "I- Can you help me?"

Derek looks wary. "With what?"

Stiles grins around the pain. His mouth tastes coppery, but there's no blood in his mouth. "I have to find my 'soul mate'."


	8. Chapter 8

_This one's from Derek's POV_

* * *

No. No. No.

He's not going to do it. Why should he? He's a punk ass kid who doesn't understand boundaries or when to listen. He's the Sheriff's son (a Sheriff who knows about werewolves but not about soul mates). He's a hyperactive ball of energy who doesn't stop moving, even when it causes him pain.

Derek's not going to do it.

He refuses.

Until Stiles almost crumples to the ground, holding his stomach and dry-heaving. He changes his mind so fast it makes his head spin. Derek pulls Stiles up by the arms, and drags him towards...

"Stiles, where are we going?" Derek asks him.

"Station," Stiles whispers.

A police station full of cops, and undoubtedly the Sheriff by now, and Stiles wants to waltz in there like nothing's the matter. With Derek. Who's had murder charges (dropped or not) on his record.

Even with all this, he doesn't pause once. He wants Stiles to get better. Wants to see him get by a year without the risk of him dying. Wants him to be happy. Stiles is a happy kid. Positive energy (sometimes too much) all the time. Smart kid with the plans to save their asses in a hurry. Derek doesn't even know he wanted those things until now.

Stiles groans again, and Derek gives up trying to pull him along and just lifts Stiles up.

"What are you doing?" Stiles mumbles.

"Making this go a lot faster." I want you to be happy. Trust me. I want you to be happy.

"Mhmm." Stiles stays quiet, and Derek is able to get to the station without much fanfare. (Some weird looks, but Derek was used to that by now.)

He sets Stiles on his feet. "Go," he urges, pushing Stiles towards the entrance, already backing away.

"Where're you going?" Stiles asks, interrupted by a yawn. "Come in. 'S cold out."

"Home." Derek takes another step backwards. "Go." Please don't make this harder than it already is.

Stiles looks like he's about to turn around completely and follow Derek, but Derek runs off before Stiles takes the chance.

He doesn't (can't) look back.

(He'll probably find out from Scott that Stiles found his soul mate, that they're a perfect couple, and the Sheriff approves of them wholeheartedly. Derek won't see Stiles after that, too busy with whoever is his "soul mate". It'll just be him, Peter, and Isaac, who's pulling towards Scott now, which means Derek will be by himself. Scott, Allison, and Isaac will get their happy ever after, Lydia will go on to be some hotshot scientist or mathematician or figure out a way to save the world. They will all have their own lives. Pack up and leave Beacon Hills for bigger and better things. And Derek will remain here, alone. He doesn't mind. Someone has to keep this town safe.)

* * *

Walking into the station, Stiles' dad immediately runs over to him, pulling him in close. "Don't ever do that again. I was close to calling Scott and having him find you by scent."

Stiles laughs, and tries pushing his dad away. "I'm fine. I just... needed some air." He smiles encouragingly at him. "Is Parrish here? I need to talk to him."

His dad gives him a strange look. "Uh, no. He went home sick today. I felt really bad for him, actually. He looked awful."

Perfect. This is going to be really awkward. "Can I have his address? I really need to talk to him. Like, yesterday."

More strange looks, but his dad acquiesces. Stiles sighs as he slides into the passenger seat in the Sheriff's car, and his dad sits in the driver's seat. "Can I ask why you need to go to Parrish's house?"

Stiles shrugs. He's tired, sluggish, and cold. "Just, drive." He rests his head on the window, and ends up falling asleep on the ride. He wakes up to his dad lightly shaking his shoulder.

"Son. We're here."

Stiles nods, yawns, and slowly climbs out of the car. "Thanks, Dad. I'll be right back." He shuffles forward, and manages not to fall flat on his face. He looks back, sees his dad sitting in the car, and sighs. This is going to be... well, certainly a number of things.

He braces himself, and knocks on the door. Seconds tick by, and Stiles is feeling his strength come back to him, bit by bit. He stands straighter, flexes his hands, and shivers when the door opens.

Jeremy Parrish was a young man, big green eyes, a little taller than Stiles, and, Stiles has to admit, ridiculously gorgeous. Stiles just stares for a bit, shocked by the fact that the universe thought these two were meant to share a life together.

"What the hell?" And Parrish's face falls, but Stiles is pissed off, and why not take it out on the one person that (probably) won't hate him. "Seriously. What the hell?"

"Hi," Parrish says, recovering from Stiles' entrance, smiling like this is the moment he's been waiting for for his whole life. Dear Lord, he probably has, Stiles thinks. "Oh my God. It's actually you." His smile is too big, too happy for something like this. Stiles just hopes Parrish doesn't try to hug him.

"Yeah, I'm me." Stiles narrows his eyes, and looks behind him again. His dad's staring at them. "I'm assuming you know about what... we... are."

"Soul mates," Stiles internally cringes at the word, "yeah. I do. Do you want to come in?" Parrish steps aside, all ready to invite Stiles in. Hell, Stiles barely knows him. For all he knows, he's some obsessive creep like Matt was.

"Uh, no. I'm good." Stiles shoves his hands in his jean pockets. "I just wanted to say hey, and, yeah." He doesn't know what to say. He can't just say what he wants to say right now. He suddenly wants to be in his room, curled up in his bed, with someone in particular sitting at his desk, taking notes in his research, highlighter or pen cap in his mouth.

Parrish smiles, but then he shivers, and he blinks a few times. "Oh. Um." He lifts both his hands, and Stiles opens his mouth to ask what the hell he was doing. Parrish smiles, then pinches the skin on the back of his hand. Hard.

Stiles automatically grabs his own hand, but shockingly, there's no pain. "Wait. What just happened? Shouldn't I have felt that?"

Parrish exhales. "Okay. Just making sure." He smiles again, but it's smaller and more sad. "We need to talk. But tomorrow and not here." Parrish retreats inside his house, and comes back writing something down on a piece of paper.

"Parrish-"

"Tomorrow. Promise." Parrish closes the door then, and Stiles is left hanging.

His dad is silent, neither sure of what just happened.

"So, Parrish?"

Stiles groans, and covers his eyes.


	9. Chapter 9

By the time he wakes up the next morning, Stiles is feeling a hundred percent better. Almost like he is a whole new person. He's smiling at his dad, cracking jokes, even giving his dad a hug before the Sheriff heads off to work. His dad smiles back, tentatively, then widely when he figures his son is back in order.

Stiles doesn't mind. He's going to get answers today. Last night is a bit fuzzy to remember, but there's a piece of paper on the ground next to Stiles' bed with a time and place on it, so it's pretty easy to connect the dots.

Speaking of... Stiles glances at the clock and curses when he sees that he has ten minutes to get to the cafe. He grabs his keys, jumps into his car, and guns it down the street.

(One of the things that he didn't forget was the look on Derek's face when he brought Stiles to the station. Stiles has to stop himself every time it comes up.)

Parrish was already there, two coffees and bagels on the table in front of him, reading a novel he brought. He looks up when Stiles clears his throat.

"Stiles," he says as he scrambles to stand up. "Sorry. I, just, wasn't expecting you... here... yet."

Stiles squints. "You're the one who invited me out."

Parrish laughs, and Stiles finds himself chuckling a little too. "Yeah. Sorry, again."

Stiles sits, grabbing the bagel and coffee right away. He takes a bite, and sips his coffee while he waits for Parrish to start.

"I, uh," Parrish clears his throat. "Right. So, I don't know if you realized or forgot or something, but we don't feel each other's pain anymore."

Stiles chokes a little on his coffee, because yes. He'd forgot about that tiny detail. "Oh, yeah. That." Stiles sets down the cup. He then pinches his arm as hard as he can. Parrish only smiles.

"Told you." Parrish rubs his arm anyway. "It's like a fake pain. I can't feel it at all, but when I know you're doing it, it's almost like I can." He shakes his head. "It's strange."

"Who told you about... us?" Stiles asks. The only people who knew about it were Scott, Derek, Melissa, and Deaton. Wait-

"Uh, a nurse from my old town. I got mauled by a bear, you probably remember, and she told me about us. I didn't believe her at first until I started getting hurt when it wasn't my fault."

"What was her name?"

Parrish scratches her head. "I'm not sure. Started with an M. Uh, Mortia. Mostan. Moddie."

"Morrell?" Stiles asks.

"Yeah!" Parrish laughs. "How'd you know?"

Stiles slumps in his chair. Wow. They really are everywhere. "Just a hunch."

"Right," Parrish says, rolling his eyes in a kind-hearted manner. "Hunch. Anyway. Not why I asked you to meet me here. I want to talk about us."

"What about us?"

"About the fact that we're no longer soul mates."

Stiles freezes. "What?"

Parrish nods. "Yeah. Didn't you feel it last night? The connection... broke."

"Connection?"

"The bond, or whatever. What makes me feel your pain, and you mine. Morrell told me that your pain was more subdued on my end because you were, what was the word." Parrish thinks for a moment, then shrugs and sits up in his seat. "Anyways, there's a reason. We just have to find it."

Stiles doesn't want to, but if it'll appease Parrish (and eventually make him leave Stiles alone), then Stiles is all for it.

* * *

 _Derek POV_

Well, Derek thinks as he sighs, staring across the street, that's that.

Stiles is laughing, head thrown back, and the man across from him is clearly his soul mate, smiling along with him. Derek finds himself both smiling and looking straight at the ground. "Three days," he says to himself. "Three days."

 _Three days of silence. Three days of solitude. Three days and I will be happy for him. Three days._

Derek takes one more look up, and hides in a crowd when Stiles turns his head to look towards where Derek was just standing. He decides, as he walks with some strangers (one looks like she wants to eat him), that he needs to leave town for a few days.

Go north. Go west. Go south. It doesn't matter. As long as he's gone for three days, he'll go straight up into the atmosphere if that's what it takes.

It's all he needs right now.

It's apparently not what the universe wants.

As Derek drives out of town, he swerves around a deer and hits a lamp post.

(He's still not sure whether he should be thankful or not.)

(Scratch that. He definitely is.)

* * *

Stiles drives over to Scott's later that night, needing to talk to both him and Melissa. Scott will be so excited to find out that Stiles' "soul mate" isn't his "soul mate" anymore, and Melissa probably never believed him in the first place. Stiles realizes it's been too long since he's seen her.

He goes to knock on the door, only to be attacked by four strong arms. "Um, ow!"

Melissa and Scott laugh and pulls back. They're both smiling widely, and Stiles is automatically worried.

"Stiles," Melissa says.

"Hey, buddy," Scott says.

"Why are you both so happy?" Stiles asks.

Scott drapes an arm around Stiles' shoulder, and drags him inside the house. "Your dad called earlier, said you'd be by later to talk to us."

Stiles shrugs. "So?"

Scott gently punches Stiles' arm. "Well, who is it?"

 _Good God,_ Stiles thinks. _I forget how smart Scott is sometimes._ "Did my dad tell you?"

"No, obviously." Scott smirks. "Tell us. We want to be happy for you."

Stiles tries frowning at the two of them, but can't, and instead smiles right back. "New Deputy. Jeremy Parrish."

"Really?" Melissa says. She leans in a little closer, and whispers, "Is he cute?"

Scott gasps, and Melissa laughs. "What?"

"Mom!" Scott runs out of words, and instead reverts to making unintelligible sounds and hand gestures. "Mom."

"I'm just asking! Jeez." Melissa holds her hands up in surrender, but winks at Stiles behind Scott's back.

Scott rolls his eyes. "So. You met him? What's he like?"

Stiles bites his lip. "He's cool. But uh," Stiles rubs the back of his head. "We're kinda... not... soul mates... anymore."

Melissa and Scott stare at him. Scott gapes. "What? How? What happened?"

"I don't even know." Stiles laughs a little. "But I feel it now. Well, more like don't feel it. The bond, or whatever, is gone."

"So," Scott says. "He can't hurt you anymore. That's good. Right? I mean. He's a cop. He could've got shot."

Stiles nods, and glances at Melissa, who's now wearing a concerned expression. "Yeah," he says, minutely shaking his head, a sign to Melissa to not bring it up. "I just... hope Parrish can move on."

Scott laughs after a second, and Stiles joins in. Melissa apparently doesn't get it, so she leaves the two of them alone. Stiles and Scott spend the rest of the day holed up in his room playing video games.

Stiles definitely needs it. And he's having fun, shoving Scott to the side when a race starts, Scott pushing back and Stiles falling off the bed. (Stiles laughs anyways).

They've been playing for three hours when Scott's phone starts ringing. Scott stares at the number, smiles widely, and answers, walking out of the room as he does so. "Hey, Allison," he says before Stiles stops paying attention.

Scott's out of the room for half an hour, and by the time he comes back, Stiles is prepping to leave. Scott looks like he's about to apologize (the puppy he is), but Stiles stops his with a hand. "Dude. Don't even worry."

"But-"

"Hey," Stiles says, walking over to Scott. "Allison's special to you. Trust me when I say I get it." Stiles smiles. "See you tomorrow. Same time, but you're buying pizza. Homemade sucks."

Scott laughs, and hugs Stiles, giving him a pat on the back. "You'll find yours too, you know."

Stiles subtly holds Scott harder. "I know."

They let go, and Stiles calmly walks out of the house, then sprints to his car. His movements are fast, trying to open the door and close it behind him at the speed of light. He doesn't bother with a seatbelt, and rushes to start the car. It takes three agonizing tries before it starts.

He drives as fast as allowed to get to Derek's loft. Ten miles over the speed limit, but since it's of serious importance, Stiles thinks he will be able to weasel his way out of a ticket if it came to it.

Too bad he doesn't see the deer until he hits it.

* * *

 _Derek POV_

The guy is taking too long to fix the car. He may be the only mechanic open this late, but Derek still wants to get a move on. He glances at his phone, sees it's 1:30 in the morning, and groans.

It wasn't anything serious. Just some front bumper damage. Light bumper damage. Shouldn't have cost more than a few hundred.

"We're looking at around," the mechanic says, checking the car, "a thousand."

"A thousand? Are you kidding me? It's a piece of fucking plastic on the front of the car," Derek says, tone tight with anger.

"Yeah," the mechanic says, slowly backing away. He pretends to look at the car again, writes some gibberish on a piece of paper, and turns back to Derek. "So, around three hundred."

Derek sighs, and smiles. "Perfect." He pulls out his wallet, slaps the money in the mechanic's hand, and walks outside for some air.

He collapses on his hands and knees without warning. Trouble breathing, mouth filling with invisible liquid, torso on fire, head thumping. Derek has no idea what's going on, but he already hates it.

The next thought almost knocks him out.

 _"I get hurt when it's not my fault. Cuts, bruises, gun-shots. They get it, I get it."_

Well, apparently Derek has some sort of soul mate. (Wait, what the hell? He's Derek Hale. Family burned to death in a fire from a woman who used him as a kid. Alpha werewolf with no Pack. Why would he have a soul mate?)

Another wave of nausea and the possibility of blacking out, and Derek sits back on his heels, taking deep breaths and refusing to call to the mechanic to get an ambulance. This will pass.

Five minutes later, Derek is still in his weird pain-not-pain phase, so he calls Deaton.

"Derek? What's wrong?"

"Help," is all Derek can mutter. Then, like a weight has been lifted off his chest, he can breathe normally and the pseudo-pain washes away. "Okay. That was-" Stiles. Find Stiles.

"Derek. Are you okay?"

"Fine. Where's Stiles?" Derek stands up, breathing deep and closing his eyes to open his senses. He hears cars, people, dogs, and an ambulance. Ambulance. That could be anyone, Derek's rational mind says. But it could be Stiles, the unreasonable part protests. "Alan. Call the Sheriff. Tell him to go to the hospital."

"Why?" Deaton asks, but Derek can hear the possibilities running through the man's head. Hell, he's already on the move towards the hospital.

"Stiles is in trouble."


	10. Chapter 10

Stiles doesn't always have the best memory. All he can remember about his mom nowadays is the color of her shirts when she tucked him into bed, the shape of her hands when she handed him a glass of milk to drink, and other small, insignificant tidbits of information. He can't recall her voice, her laugh, her hair, her face.

His childhood is a blur of happiness and pain (not always his). His dad didn't have any tapes of Stiles as a child. Stiles doesn't care that much, but sometimes he really needs a new voice to hear.

Right now, Stiles wakes up in a hospital when he was almost ninety-seven percent sure he was just driving his Jeep to Derek's loft. When he tries to sit up and feels pain, he's almost forty-four percent sure. When he spies his dad, asleep, in the chair next to the bed, Stiles almost stops breathing.

"Dad?" Stiles asks, throat dry. "Dad?" He tries again, a little louder.

His dad jolts awake, and the first thing he does is stand up and move closer to Stiles. "Stiles. You're okay." He has tears in his eyes. Stiles still isn't sure why he's here yet.

"Um, yeah. Why am I here? What happened?" Stiles scratches his head, and finds both his forehead and arm wrapped in gauze. His left arm, to be exact. His right arm is scratched up pretty bad though, and when he goes to move his legs, only one of them does. The right one.

"You don't remember?" Sheriff asks. He opens his mouth, but is cut off by a nurse walking in.

"Ah, you're awake, Stiles." He grabs the clipboard at the end of the bed, and looks it over. "Let's go through this, shall we? Three cracked ribs, two bruised ones, fractured left arm, broken left femur... concussion, and some internal bleeding that was solved while in the operating room."

Okay, so Stiles might've fallen a sleep at some point during the list, but he gets the gist of it. He had an accident, got hurt, and is not moving from this bed for a few days. "What happened?"

The nurse puts down the clip board. "You hit a deer and you weren't wearing your seat-belt. You crashed through the windshield." The nurse walks over and checks a few machines Stiles' is attached to. "You'll have surgery on Monday morning for your femur, so you should be out by Thursday."

If he wasn't in this situation with Parrish and Derek, Stiles wouldn't mind the extra days in the hospital. He nods at the nurse that he understands, and his dad follows the nurse outside the room. Stiles wants to overhear what they're saying, but he ends up falling asleep.

Damn nurses.

* * *

 _Derek POV_

The hospital's ten minutes away by car, so Derek runs. He could've easily had Deaton pick him up and give him a ride. However, the need to get to Stiles is stronger than his patience.

It takes twenty minutes. He bursts through the door and almost runs straight into Melissa McCall. "Sorry, Mrs. McCall. Where's Stiles?"

She frowns. "Why?"

"Because I need to see him," Derek says. (He refrains himself from growling because this is Scott's mother, who is also a very intimidating woman.)

Melissa narrows her eyes and crosses her arms. "Why?"

Derek swallows another growl, and sighs. "Please."

She still doesn't look like she wants to tell him, but she does anyway. "Second floor, all the way down the hall. He's on the right." She pokes her finger in the middle of his chest. "Don't you dare hurt him. I don't care if you're an Alpha or not. I will end you." She points at him one more time, then disappears into another room.

Derek shudders, then follows her directions. As soon as he walks in, the Sheriff stands up. "Derek. What are you doing here?"

"I-" Derek forgot why he's here when he sees Stiles laying on the bed, needles and tubes sticking out from him. "Uh."

"Derek?" the Sheriff says. "Why are you here?"

Did Stiles tell him about soul mates? Probably not, or his dad would've asked about that or called Stiles' soul mate. That person who's on the police force. That person who makes Stiles laugh like that.

He's not supposed to be here. He's supposed to be hundreds of miles away, and probably still driving. He shouldn't be here. Derek shakes his head, clears his mind, and starts to back out of the room. "Apologies. I'm in the wrong room."

"Oh," the Sheriff says. "Give them my sympathies."

Derek stops. "I will." He takes one more look at Stiles, then heads out the door.

 _Damn soul mates._

He paces the hall for a bit, collecting his thoughts, then, as he's about to push the button on the elevator, he hears a weak voice. "Derek?" Definitely Stiles. "Derek? Please come back. I need to talk to you."

Though he doesn't want to subject himself to even more pain, Derek turns around and goes back to Stiles' room. His dad isn't there, and Stiles is awake. "Derek. You heard me."

Derek nods once, not moving from the one step he took inside the room.

He shouldn't be here.

"Sweet. Let's talk." Stiles sits up with a groan, and Derek plants himself in the Sheriff's now abandoned chair. "So, in case you were wondering, I got into a tiny accident."

"Tiny?" Derek says incredulously, resisting a smile.

"Ha ha, shut up." Stiles shifts to make himself more comfortable. "I hit a deer. Flew out the windshield. Fun times."

Derek sighs (relieved), lifting his feet and placing them on the edge of Stiles' bed. He tilts his head back and closes his eyes. "Since you're going to talk for the next hour about stuff I don't care about, I'm going to take a nap."

Stiles laughs, and rubs his thumb in his palm. "Some people would find that incredibly rude, you know."

"Do I look like I care about other people?"

"Actually, yeah." Derek glares at him. Stiles smiles. "Nice try. You _want_ Scott and Isaac to be happy. You _want_ Allison to become an amazing hunter. You _want_ Lydia to succeed. You may not show it, but I know it's there." Stiles shrugs at Derek's gaping mouth. "Sheriff's son. I pick up on stuff."

Derek snaps his jaw shut, and looks away, picking at his fingernails. "That's not all." Well, that's not what he's supposed to say. What he was supposed to say was, "Shut up. You don't know what you're talking about. You're just some kid," or something like that.

"What do you mean?" Stiles' heartbeat races, and Derek stands up, leaning over the bed. Stiles' eyes go wide, darting between Derek's eyes and lips.

How easy it would be to close the distance, take what Derek wants, has wanted for the past few weeks. (Probably longer if he really examines it.) Stiles doesn't stop him, and Derek watches Stiles' eyes close, mouth open.

Derek thinks he should stop as soon as their lips touch. He's still kissing him as he imagines Stiles' soul mate barging in, shifts when he imagines Stiles either defending or rejecting Derek. Doesn't stop as Stiles lifts and hand and places it on Derek's shoulder, and Derek remembers Stiles laughing at the cafe with that guy. His soul mate.

 _Stiles has a soul mate. One who isn't you. You can't be with him, and he can't be with you. Stop. Stop now._

Derek pulls back. Stiles still has his eyes closed. So, Derek does what Derek always does.

He runs.

* * *

Stiles wants to be upset, wants to be angry, wants to be sad. He doesn't. He feels... nothing. A hollow space in his mind where Parrish usually resides is gone, Derek vanished, and Scott's... Scott's still talking.

"-but Allison totally told him off. It was awesome." Scott is smiling as bright as the sun, so Stiles smiles with him, nodding his head like he's paying attention.

It's times like these when Stiles is lucky to have a friend like Scott. He knows when to be silent and when to never have a moment of silence. Right now, it's the latter. Stiles hums in agreement of Lydia's smarts, laughs when Scott laughs, and replays the crushing disappointment when he opened his eyes and Derek was gone.

He doesn't want to dwell on it. Instead, Stiles focuses on recovering so he can whip Scott's ass in Need for Speed.

"So," Scott says, long speech apparently winding down. "Thursday. That's soon."

"Scott, it's Saturday. Barely past four o'clock," Stiles says. "Plus I have surgery on Monday."

Scott rolls his eyes. "I know. But it was a major accident. You could've gotten really hurt." Stiles hears the fear and worry in Scott's voice.

"Hey, at least Parrish isn't my soul mate anymore. That's a good thing, right?" Stiles rubs his neck, hand a dull pain. "I mean, he could've been in the bed right next to me."

Scott frowns. "Right." He sits down, and pulls out his phone. "What should we get for dinner? I was thinking subs?"

Stiles agrees, and Scott leaves to pick them up. Stiles figures he can sleep for the half-hour Scott would be gone for, so he lays down and closes his eyes.

Of course, he thinks about green eyes and a broad jaw. Sleep doesn't come easily.

* * *

Saturday passes. He gets visit from Scott, Allison, and Lydia, who spend most of their visiting time doodling on Stiles' cast. Isaac even comes around by himself a little after they left, finding a small spot near Stiles' foot to write his name. They don't talk much. Stiles doesn't mind, and he thinks Isaac doesn't either.

He's lucky enough that Peter doesn't drop by, but Derek doesn't show his face.

Late, late Saturday night, Stiles wakes up from a nightmare. He's not sure what it was, but he's covered in sweat and his heart is making the monitors beep rapidly. A few nurses check in on him, make sure he's okay, then leave him be.

As he tires to get comfortable, he turns his head to the left, and notices the open window.

"Derek?" He whispers. "Derek is that you?"

No answer.

"Well, if it is," Stiles continues undeterred, "I just want to say that I hate you and you're a jerk. Seriously? What the hell, man? Make up your mind or leave me the hell alone."

Okay, though he just said that, he really doesn't not want to talk to Derek. Derek encourages bad behavior (to an extent), goes along with Stiles' jokes, and even cracks a few jokes of his own.

Stiles doesn't worry about it for too long, because there are lips on his again, and he's frozen, but Derek (hoping to every god and deity it is) is warm and gentle and Stiles wants to push him away, punch him in the nose, then kiss him again.

So he does. Punch him, at least.

"What the hell?" Stiles says, shaking his hand out. Damn, that hurt.

Derek rubs his jaw, eyes staring at the ground. "I'm sorry," he says, starting to back away, the opposite of what Stiles wants. "I won't do that again."

"Holy mixed signals, Batman! Get your ass back in here! Derek!" Stiles whisper-yells, not wanting to alert any medical staff of the unknown visitor. "I swear to God if you jump out of that window!"

He doesn't. Stiles glares at him as he sits down in the chair next to Stiles' hospital bed. Derek stays silent.

"Well, then." Stiles taps his fingers on his leg. "Are we going to talk about it?"

"Nothing to talk about," Derek says, his false bravery easy for Stiles to pick up on.

"Right," Stiles says, drawing the word out. "So you didn't just kiss me? Twice, so far?"

Derek shakes his head. "Nope."

Well, Derek's a big fat liar. (Actually, he's more of a big muscular liar.) Because Stiles' lips are still tingling, and he can feel his skin start to redden from the unshaven beard.

"See, I don't need to have super senses to tell you're lying. It's because I'm awesome, I know." Stiles smiles. Derek looks away. "You do realize I can have a two-way conversation with only myself, right? Because it's totally about to happen and I'm going to make you smile."

Derek now looks unimpressed. Good going, Stiles.

"Start scene. Characters: Stiles Stilinski and Derek Hale. Location: Stilinski Household. Time: I think around ten a night." Stiles clears his throat. "In a galaxy, far, far away..."

Derek groans as soon as the words are out of his mouth. "No Star Wars."

"Oh my God, you know Star Wars?" Stiles bounces a little.

"Yes. Get on with the story."

Stiles clears his throat again. "The Stilinski household was always ordinary. No expensive electronics. No fancy fire-place. No high-tech kitchen. There were two people living in that house. Originally three, but the wife and mother passed away when the son was nine. So son and father lived in this ordinary house, living their ordinary lives." Stiles grins, before clamping it down. "And then, everything changed when the fire nation attacked."

"Stiles," Derek snaps, but Stiles wins. There's a small smirk on Derek's face.

Stiles is laughing. He doesn't care if he can't get through a stupid story about his life without a few perfectly placed puns or references to shows and movies. He gets to tell Derek about having a soul mate, how much it sucked, and what happened that night when Stiles was sleep-walking and sick.

"And then the knight saved the prince by lifting him up on his shoulder and carrying him away from what the prince wanted. Sure, the prince could've said something. But the prince was kind of not in the right state of mind to do anything but watch the knight ride off on a black stallion into the night."

Derek's been biting his lips while Stiles tells his story, and it's clear he wants to smile or laugh, but he won't let it happen. Stiles narrows his eyes as he talks about Parrish, taking in the sudden somber expression on Derek's face.

"That's when Sti- I mean, the prince, realized that his king wasn't some person that he was destined to be with. It was the person who he knew. The person who actually was a physical being, not some idea or cuts and bruises. His real king was the knight all along."

Super cheesy ending, but it got the point across. (Stiles thinks, at least.)

Derek still leaves without another word.

Stiles still yells, "Asshole!" at his retreating back.


	11. Chapter 11

_Everything is revealed..._

* * *

 _Scott POV_

Sunday morning finds Scott on his back for the fifth time in an hour. Derek's looming over him, huffing and eyes red. "Try again."

Scott stands up, then crouches low. Every time he does this, Derek just grabs Scott by the back of the neck and throws him to the ground. So, Scott devises a new plan. As Derek starts to stalk towards him, Scott shoots to the right, out of Derek's immediate reach, and steps behind him, trying to get at Derek's back.

He's on the ground before he can raise a hand.

"Again," Derek says, stomping a little farther away.

Isaac's sitting on the porch steps, watching them while also maintaining the card game between him and Allison. She's winning. Scott can tell by the wide smile, and Isaac's determined frown.

Scott's too busy staring at the two of them, he doesn't notice what happened until he's staring up at the trees. Derek actually "attacked" him just then.

"Dude, what the hell is your problem?" Scott says, this time standing up and holding his ground. Isaac and Allison pause their game to watch.

Derek's nose twitches, and then he's roaring and punching a tree, completely wolfed out. He keeps going for a few more seconds, and Isaac and Scott place themselves between Derek and Allison. She notices, and scoffs.

That breaks Derek's concentration, and he stops with his fist in the air. He's breathing heavily, and his knuckles are bloody, but the skin itself is probably healed by now.

He turns toward them, wolf retreating. Scott takes a step forward. "Are you going to tell us what's going on?"

"Why the hell would I do that?" Derek shoots back.

"Because we're your friends, whether you like it or not." Scott glances back at Allison and Isaac, giving them a small smile. "Now..."

Derek growls again, and though Scott doesn't feel the need to bow down to him or whatever, he knows Isaac does. So, Scott moves until he's between Derek and Isaac and Allison.

"Why does everything have to be your problem? Why can't you let people be, leave them to solve their own problems. Huh? Maybe people don't like kids in their business. Did you ever think about that?"

Scott frowns. As soon as he opens his mouth, Derek says with him, "Of course." Derek continues. "Of course you do. Selfless, perfect Scott. Always there to swoop in and save the day. I mean, I don't think it would kill you to let me handle my own issues."

Derek curses under his breath, but both Scott and Isaac can hear it. Allison has one hand on her bow, the other on an arrow, and prepared to fire at a moment's notice.

Before Scott can say anything, Derek takes off into the woods, and Peter replaces him in a heartbeat. "Tragic." Peter tsks.

"What?" Scott asks. "What's tragic?"

Peter looks at the three of them, and laughs. "Wow. What an entanglement we have going on here." He takes a step forward, and Allison raises her bow, aiming at Peter's head.

"You killed my aunt."

"She killed my entire family," Peter says, head cocked to the left. "Truly fascinating."

Scott and Isaac glance at each other. Isaac says, "Uh, sure. Fascinating."

Peter chuckles again. "Do you not see it? Feel it?" He pauses, looking at them. "Goddamn know it?"

Allison says, "What do you want?" Her bow has not changed direction.

"You three," he points at them, "are adorable together. I must say."

They all look at each other, confused. "Okay," Scott says slowly. "What does this have to do with anything?"

"Everything." Peter takes another step forward. Allison lands an arrow inches from Peter's foot.

"Not another step," she warns, aiming another arrow.

Peter wags a finger at her. "I knew I liked you for a reason." He holds his hands up. "But fine. I just wanted to say that Derek's jealous of you."

Isaac scoffs. "Sure. Yeah, that makes sense." When Peter's expression didn't change, Isaac clears his throat. "Uh, what is he, uh, jealous of, exactly?"

"Do I really have to repeat myself?" Peter asks. Scott narrows his eyes, trying to figure Peter's game. Then, Peter sighs. "Fine. Derek hates the fact that you all love each other, while he's Mr. Lonely."

Scott backs up until his heels hit the porch steps. Isaac's hand steadies him when he stumbles a bit. "Your point?" Scott asks.

Peter groans. "Jesus, why is this so difficult for you to understand? There is no point, idiots. I'm explaining what you wanted to know." He mumbles "assholes" as he walks away, but Scott's busy with Isaac and Allison to care.

They all sit on the steps.

"Something's up," Allison says first.

"I agree," Isaac says.

Scott nods. "Yeah. Derek? Jealous? Of us? Why?"

"Maybe," Allison starts, "Maybe it's because of Stiles."

Isaac and Scott turn to look at her. "Why Stiles?" Scott asks.

Allison tilts her head and taps her chin. "Maybe because Lydia and I possibly figured out why Stiles got hurt."

"He hit a deer," Scott says.

"Yes, but Lydia said she didn't feel anything before it happened. She didn't even know."

Isaac says, "Wait, that doesn't make sense."

"I know," Allison agrees.

Scott takes her hands in his. "Allison, tell me everything."

* * *

 _Parrish POV_

Opening the door to the vet's office, Parrish is hit with how warm it is in the building. He tugs at his collar and rings the bell on the counter. Sheriff Stilinski had told him to go get Polly, one of their K-9 Unit dogs, from Alan Deaton.

"Be with you in a moment!" A voice calls out from the back, presumably Deaton's.

Parrish takes the time to think about Stiles, his soul mate. Well, more like his former soul mate. He wishes the woman who told him about why he was getting hurt randomly was here to help him. Parrish doesn't feel the same anymore, and he knows it's from their connection being broken. He doesn't even know what happened.

A man, Deaton, walks out, wiping his hands on a towel. "Sorry about that. How can I help you?" He throws the towel into a basket.

"I'm Deputy Jeremy Parrish and I'm here to pick up Polly."

Deaton nods. "Of course. Follow me." He holds open the gate for Parrish, and leads him to the back room where the dogs are being kept. Polly barks when she recognizes Parrish. "She's a very sweet girl. Hates needles, though." Deaton opens the cage, clipping the leash onto Polly's collar. Suddenly he stands up straighter. "You said your name was Parrish?"

He takes the leash and nods. "Yeah. Why?"

Deaton smiles. "Then I may be able to help you with your... other predicament."

"Other predicament?"

"As in, your soul mate predicament."

Parrish's eyes widen. "Wh-What? How do you know about that?"

"I know because my sister Marin is the one that told you while I'm the one who told Stiles."

"Sister?" It dawns on him almost instantly. "Morrell?" Deaton nods. "But," Parrish adds, his shoulders lowering, "me and Stiles aren't soul mates anymore."

Deaton takes this information in. Then he says, "I see. You know, when Stiles first came in, I knew it right away. Soul mates are particularly rare, and I've only met one before him. However, unlike the one I have met, Stiles rejected the notion of a soul mate immediately. While you felt very little pain from Stiles' injuries, he felt yours completely because you didn't mind having a soulmate."

The weight of what Deaton says hits Parrish like a sack of bricks. "You mean every time I got hurt, Stiles got it all, but if he got hurt, I didn't feel a thing?" Deaton nods, and Parrish is speechless for a moment. "I got attacked by bear, shot, worked at the front desk for years, enduring paper cuts and bumped knees and sprained ankles! I thought whoever was at the other end of our connection was just really well-kept and didn't get hurt all too often and now-"

"You couldn't have known," Deaton says, clearly trying to calm Parrish down. "Even if you did, it wouldn't have changed anything. Stiles didn't want a soul mate, so he closed himself off; you never felt anything. You wanted one, so you kept the connection open."

"So then why did the connection just break now? Why not when he realized he had a soul mate?"

Deaton frowns. "That I am unsure of. Once again, I had only met one other person with a soul mate and she had yet to find them. Not a lot is written about them either. What I have read is very unreliable."

"Why?"

"The ones who wrote them do not have soul mates themselves. It would be very biased."

"I understand." Parrish looks down at Polly, sitting and smiling up at him. "Is there anything you can tell me?"

Deaton considers this, then purses his lips. "What I do know is that connections are rarely broken. When they are, strange happenings occur. What Stiles went through is actually not surprising. You see, the universe believed you and Stiles were meant to be together. He decided he didn't want that, actively sought against it, and the universe punished him for it."

"How are they broken? What causes it to happen?"

"The most common case is requited love. When one half of a soul mate rejects the idea, as you already know, the connection is already low. But when a person starts to fall in love with another, the connection starts to split. Of course, it will remain with the original half because the love is not shared with the new potential connection. So if the feelings become mutual, the connection frays with the original, and eventually is cut off completely, not matter the feelings of the original soul mate."

Parrish takes in the information, rocking back and forth on his heels. "So what happens now? If Stiles is in-"

"What do you want?" Deaton asks.

Parrish is brought up short by the question. He's been so concerned for Stiles that he didn't even think about himself. "I want..." He doesn't know. He has no idea. "I want..."

Deaton lays a hand on his shoulder. "You don't have to decide right now, but you should think about it. Remember that you are a person with feelings. No one would fault you for being upset at this turn of events."

Parrish nods. He gestures to Polly. "We better be off then. Thank you, Deaton."

"Of course. I aim to help all who need me." Deaton smiles at Parrish. "I hope everything works out for you."

Parrish nods, and walks out, Polly pulling on the leash harder than usual.

 _I'll tell Stiles tomorrow,_ Parrish thinks. _Tomorrow._

* * *

 _Derek POV_

There is no precise point when you start to develop certain feelings for someone. It usually starts out as animosity, which somehow morphs to attraction. This is Derek's reason for staring at Stiles when he should be focusing on Peter's endless babble.

Stiles isn't even doing anything, and Derek immediately thinks, _What the ever loving hell?_

It spirals out of control from there. Next time, it's long after Stiles kept them afloat for two hours while the kanima stalked around the pool. Stiles had his back to the rest of them, and headed towards his own car on autopilot. Derek kept staring, like at the meeting a few days earlier, and thinks, _Well he's not ugly_.

Then, Stiles is taken by Gerard, and he sees the aftermath on his face (can sense the pain he's really in) before he stabs Jackson in the stomach with his claws.

 _I don't think he's supposed to be attractive right now._

Meaningless little mental comments. At least, until Stiles slept-walked into the woods. Derek had a perfectly nice apartment, could make it feel like home, but he likes the smell of his house, home, the easy remembrance of the layout, closing his eyes and hearing his mother yell at him and Laura for crashing through a wall while fighting, and Peter laughing at them.

"Derek," Stiles says from outside, but it's slurred and quiet. Derek immediately thinks Stiles is drunk, but then he hears the slow, even _thump-thump-thump_ of his heartbeat and the fact that his eyes are closed. "Mmph, asshole."

Derek chuckles, and goes down the stairs and out to Stiles. "Stiles?"

Stiles is shaking and his lips are faintly blue. He's only wearing a thin shirt and long pants that are tattered at the ends. He's clearly been outside for a while

He leans forward and shakes Stiles' arm. He's freezing. "Stiles?"

Stiles wakes up. He has... big brown eyes.

Derek steps back. Has to. He's going to kiss the kid if he doesn't.

So, Derek guesses there can be a point.

* * *

"Fuck you. Fuck you. Fuck you. Especially fuck you."

Stiles is a little... let's go with indisposed... at the moment. He's cursing every nurse that walks by his room, every single one. Doesn't matter what they look like. Male with black hair. Male with blond hair. Female with red hair. Female with goddamn rainbow hair.

He's pissed, but relaxed, if that makes sense. (Let's see, a little high on morphine? Yes, makes sense.) He wants one person to walk in (or sail through the window, whatever), and he's not, and Stiles is getting progressively more and more angry as the hours tick by.

"Who the hell are you? Wait, I don't care. Fuck you," he says as a new nurse walks in. He's tall, and looks too much like... "Wow, fuck me."

The nurse chuckles. "That'd be against policy."

Stiles laughs, too loudly, but the nurse is still smiling. "You're much funnier than the other ones."

He shrugs. "I have a better sense of humor."

"I agree. No one even bothered looking at me." Stiles licks his lips. "You remind me of someone."

"Really?" He says, raising an eyebrow.

Stiles nods. "Yeah. He doesn't have as good of a sense of humor as you, but he makes good comebacks when the time suits him." He smirks. "He's also ridiculously handsome as well."

"Well that's saying something," he states. The nurse walks by Stiles' bed, and closes the window Stiles didn't even know was open. Stiles smiles widely as the nurse walks out of the room.

"I still hate you," Stiles says first.

Derek appears from behind the bathroom door. "I figured." He steps into the room, and closes the curtain so no one could see inside. "But I need to apologize."

Stiles narrows his eyes. "Why?"

Glaring, Derek looms over him. "Why? Are you being purposely being an idiot?"

He shrugs. "I don't think so."

"You have a goddamn soul mate! I- we had no right to kiss when someone out there-" Derek clears his throat. "I'm sorry, and I would appreciate it if we didn't talk about it anymore." Derek turns his back, and Stiles is scared out of his mind that Derek won't come back and Stiles is pretty sure he has a new bond with Derek, but of his own choice.

Stiles wants to test this theory, but as he's frantically looking around, he can't find anything, and Derek still isn't looking at him.

"Derek," he says, throat now dry and raspy. "Derek. Please-"

"No, Stiles." Derek takes a deep breath, one Stiles sees as he's trying to prove a point. "It's not fair to them."

Stiles chuckles. "There is no him, or her, or anyone really." He gives up looking for something to hurt himself with. "Will you sit down, please. I don't think you understood my story very well."

"Clearly," Derek mumbles, but sits down nevertheless.

"Okay, listen here veeeery carefully. I don't have a soul mate anymore. Do you understand that? I went to Parrish's house to talk to him. So I did, and then he told me that we don't have a connection anymore. That's it."

Derek thinks about it. "Who-" He pauses. "Parrish is on the police force?"

Stiles nods. "Yeah. He's new."

"And he is your soul mate?"

"Was," Stiles corrects. "Was. Not anymore. Are you even listening?"

"How?"

"How am I supposed to know? All I know is that one minute we're soul mates, and the next he's telling me we're not and that he wants to find out why." Stiles glances at Derek, then averts his eyes to the thread he's picking at on the bed.

Derek's silent for a bit, and Stiles continues avoiding eye contact. He's supposed to be happy, or at least glad he and Parrish aren't soul mates anymore. Instead, Stiles is wishing for some connection, something to fill the emptiness in his mind.

Sighing, Stiles covers his eyes with his hand and leans back in the bed. "Can you just pinch yourself really hard. Not like werewolf strength, but enough to hurt a fragile human like me."

And Stiles totally did not gasp and squeal in glee when he did feel something. It was small, but there. He sits up and stares at his arm. "Told you! Why do people never listen to me when I'm always right? Because honestly-"

"Stiles?"

"Yeah?"

"I'm going to kiss you again."

"Yes, please."


	12. Chapter 12: Epilogue (of sorts)

**Hey guys I wanted to say a quick thank you to everyone who reviewed this story. Each one meant the world to me! Thanks to Seira chin, wideeyedwanderer, Hi14, Drew, coley, jadedquartz, lolsmileyface6, Little Bucky, and the one anonymous guest who have reviewed the story up until this point!**

 _And now here is the the last chapter with assorted POVs finding out/seeing Stiles in the hospital featuring Parrish's procrastination..._

* * *

 _Scott POV_

He gets the call on Saturday.

Allison's dad invited him over for lunch to talk about the details of the Pack situation now that Boyd and Erica left. By noon, Scott's hanging out in Allison's room while she reads a book on her bed. Things between them have been strained, but they're working on becoming friends. Being in the same room, not really doing anything, is a great start.

His phone rings, breaking the silence (that was admittedly awkward in the first place) in the room. The number is the Sheriff, so Scott answers. "Hey, Sheriff."

 _"Scott."_ Scott already knows something's going on by the tone of his voice. He sounds tired. Scott hears people shouting and alarms beeping in the background.

"What's going on?" Scott asks. Allison puts down her book and joins Scott. "Sheriff?"

 _"It's Stiles."_

Scott's blood runs cold, and he and Allison are already heading down the stairs and out to her car. "Stiles? What happened?"

The Sheriff sighs. " _He was in a car accident._ "

The thought of running straight to the hospital is very appealing right now. Before he can end the call, Allison places her hand on Scott's arm, and shakes her head.

"Let's go," she says, grabbing the keys to her car.

Scott doesn't follow, and runs as fast as he can to the hospital.

It takes him far longer than he would have liked, and he manages to find the Sheriff with relative ease. "What happened?"

The Sheriff shrugs. "The EMT's said he hit a deer and flew through the windshield."

"Where is he?"

"ICU. Even though it happened last night, Stiles hit his head on the concrete and might have some... problems."

Scott nods, but he doesn't feel like he fully understands yet. Stiles was in a car accident. Stiles got hurt. But he is okay for now, nothing immediately serious. "When can we see him?"

"Uh, they said they wanted to perform another X-Ray, and they'll be keeping him in the ICU until tomorrow. So in about an hour."

Scott sits with the Sheriff, not saying anything at all, and is joined by Allison and Lydia shortly after. Together, they hold hands and wait for the doctor to tell the Sheriff the news.

When the doctor does come over, the Sheriff is on his feet before the doctor even asks for those with Stiles Stilinski.

"He had very minimal damage to his skull despite being thrown through the windshield and landing on pavement. He has minor scraping on the front and back of his head, no chips or fractures, and no sign of inflammation, but he does have a slight concussion. On the other side of things, he has a broken femur bone in his left leg, three cracked ribs and two bruised ones, a fractured left arm from protecting himself going through the windshield, dislocated shoulder, he had some internal bleeding when they initially operated on him last night but it was solved fairly quickly, and just minor scrapes and bruising all over his body. He actually very impressive scarring over his ribs. What happened?"

The Sheriff is clearly confused, and Scott realizes it must have been Parrish who got hurt. Scott wonders if Stiles is ever going to tell his dad.

"I'm not sure. Can we see him?"

The doctor smiles. "Of course. He's on some medication that makes him very drowsy, but he'll be off that by tomorrow. He'll most likely be asleep "

"Thank you."

The doctor leads them to a door, promises to stop by later tonight, and leaves down the hall. The Sheriff and Scott walk in, Scott momentarily stunned at seeing his best friend lying motionless on the hospital bed, surrounded by machines and needles sticking out of his arms.

The Sheriff drags the chair from the wall to sit next to the bed, holding Stiles' hand gently. Scott can see the tears welling up in his eyes, and Scott can feel his own begin to water.

"He'll get through this. He'll be fine," Scott says, standing next to the Sheriff and placing a hand on his shoulder.

Clearing his throat, the Sheriff nods. "Yeah, of course he will." They wait in silence, hoping their voices will be enough to wake Stiles, but he continues to sleep. "Do you know anything about what the doctor said? Something about scars on his ribs?"

Scott shakes his head. "I don't. Sorry."

He nods, glancing at his watch. "You should go home, get some sleep. He'll be in general care soon, and everyone can see him then."

"Yeah." He wants to do something more, but there really isn't much to say. Stiles isn't in a coma, he'll wake up soon, and he'll be okay.

Scott reminds himself of that as he walks out of the hospital, telling his friends what the doctor said, and somehow finding himself in the middle of a pile of people hugging him.

"Scott?" His mom calls out, rushing towards them. "Scott! I heard what happened. Is Stiles alright?"

Though he nods his head, he feels like breaking down. His throat is thick, he can't speak, and his mom knows. She grabs him tight, resting her head on his, and not saying a word as he lets himself go in her arms.

"Let's get you home. You can see Stiles tomorrow, I promise."

Scott doesn't complain as she shepherds him away, saying goodbye to his friends, or when she tucks him into bed. He manages to fall asleep almost instantly.

* * *

 _Lydia POV_

Her hand was cramping from writing so much, but her parents confiscated her computer a week ago and don't look like they're going to give it back anytime soon.

(It wasn't her fault the guy used her mom's bathroom. He was an idiot. Lydia's actually kind of glad her mom basically banned her from outside life. No idiots trying to hit on her and her "falling" for the bait.)

Lydia is starting her third essay when she gets a knock on her door. "Come in," she yells. She doesn't bother looking up, knowing it was one of her parents. To her surprise, a different voice speaks.

"Lydia," Allison says. Lydia looks up.

"Wow, you look terrible," she comments, frowning at Allison's clearly forced calm demeanor.

Allison rolls her eyes and runs a hand through her hair. Lydia stares at her, beginning to look at Allison in a new light. Her hands are shaking, face pulled tight with... grief. Something happened.

"Who?" Lydia says, getting up and off the bed. "Who got hurt?"

Lydia's next to Allison by the time she says anything. "Stiles." Allison's voice cracks a little, and she has to clear her throat. "Lydia, we have to go. Scott's probably there by now."

Lydia follows Allison out of the room. "What happened? Why didn't I feel anything?"

"What do you mean?" Allison says as they walk out the front door.

"I mean," Lydia says. Allison should already know this. "Before everything and anything bad happens, I get a feeling. I usually know when it happens."

Allison pauses, hand on the car door. "Maybe you didn't feel it because it wasn't supposed to happen."

Lydia cocks her head. "How so?" She says as she enters the car, pulling on her seatbelt.

Allison thinks about it, then shakes her head. "Nothing. It's just-" She starts the car. "You feel something about to happen because it was either meant to happen, or whatever powers you have know it's going to happen."

"And..."

"Maybe Stiles was never supposed to get hurt. Maybe the universe got messed up and he got caught in the crossfire."

Something in Lydia's head clicks. "Like there was a plan..."

"And Stiles screwed it up."

* * *

 _Danny POV_

"I'm sorry... What?"

So, apparently, Stiles was in a car accident. No one decided to tell him because no one ever tells him anything. Like the fact that werewolves are real, or kanimas, or hunters. Danny would be offended if he didn't understand why he was kept in the dark.

He gets it.

But... it's Stiles. No, they weren't the best of friends. But he has to know at least this much. He doesn't even hear about it until he's being released from the hospital with a dislocated shoulder on Wednesday morning.

"Stiles, get back in bed."

"But-"

"No buts. Now, bed." Danny hears a little shuffling, then, "There. Was that so hard?"

"Yes. Actually it was. I was thrown out of my car, remember?" Stiles bites back. (Danny can hear the fondness in there. Somewhere.)

The other person (who's voice sounds deep and identifiable) sighs. "How can I forget?"

Danny walks into the room, and is faced with Stiles smiling, and Derek Hale sitting in a chair, glaring at the boy. Danny waves at Stiles.

"Hey! Danny! What's going on?" Stiles says.

"Uh, dislocated shoulder. Last night's practice." Danny rotates the injured shoulder.

Stiles' face falls. "Oh, man. Sorry 'bout that. Hope you feel better."

"Yeah. Thanks. You too." To pretend he wasn't just outside, eavesdropping, Danny says, "So what happened?" He moves closer to the bed. Stiles' face and arms are scratches up (even a split lip), his leg's in a cast, his arm's in a splint, and his head is wrapped in gauze.

Stiles grins again. "I got into a car accident."

"I'm sorry... What?"

"Yeah. Accident. In a car."

Danny rolls his eyes. "Then why are you smiling?"

Stiles shrugs. "I don't know. I actually feel kind of tired." On cue, Stiles yawns. Derek rolls his eyes, and stands up. Danny (totally does not) gape at him. The shirt he's wearing now reminds him of a last year when Stiles said he was Miguel. (Danny figured out it was Derek Hale less than two hours later on the news, but mindfully kept the information to himself.)

"I think you should leave," Derek says, sounding more like a warning than a friendly invitation.

"Hey, no threatening Danny," Stiles reprimands, even going so far as to wag his finger at Derek. Derek just rolls his eyes.

"Yeah, no need to wolf out on me," Danny says, watching closely for their reactions.

Priceless, by the way.

Stiles chokes, Derek's face turns to stone, and Danny has to bite his cheek from smiling too hard. He leans over, pats Derek on the arm, and says, "Chill dude. Just an expression."

The relief that fills their faces? Again, priceless.

Danny leaves with a wide smile, sore arm, the promise to return later with everyone and sign his cast, and the knowledge that he is way better at keeping secrets than every other person in this town.

* * *

 _Parrish POV_

He starts to think it's a bad idea as soon as he walks up to the Stilinski household. It's Thursday evening, Stiles was in the accident last Friday night, and Parrish was supposed to tell Stiles what Deaton told him on Sunday and ended up panicking and not doing it until now.

Still, he needs to just check in anyways. Make sure Stiles is okay. (He doesn't know why, but he has to.)

Parrish is about to knock on the door when Sheriff Stilinski opens the door.

"Deputy Parrish. How can I help you?"

Parrish gulps. "I came to visit Stiles. If that's all right with you, of course."

Sheriff laughs, and slaps a hand on Parrish's shoulder. "He has a visitor right now, but I'm sure he wouldn't mind the company."

Parrish heads up the stairs per Sheriff's directions, and down the hall to the right. Stiles is propped up, grinning like an idiot. Someone else is in the room, but Parrish doesn't know who yet.

Whoever it is, they have a very deep voice. "No, I told you-"

"You did not! You're such a liar."

"You know what..."

Parrish holds his breath, thinking he's been caught. When there's no movement, he thinks he's in the clear. That's when someone grabs his collar and drags him inside the room.

"What the hell?" He yells.

"Derek! Stop! Derek!" The hand releases him, and Parrish, luckily, lands on his feet. The man towering over him is glaring, baring his teeth, and hands in tight fists. When the man, Derek, looks at his face, all the tense lines evaporate.

"I know you," Derek says. He whips his head back to Stiles, and sighs. "Sorry about that. I'll leave."

"Derek," Stiles says. "Wait-"

Derek closes the door on Stiles' words. Parrish stands there, rubbing the back of his neck, and blushing.

"I'm so sorry. I shouldn't have-"

Stiles laughs, and waves Parrish over. "Dude. Don't even worry about it. Derek'll be back." He leans in close, and stage-whispers, "Derek's actually a big baby. He doesn't know when to stay and when to leave." He grins.

Parrish nods, smiles, and sits down in the chair next to Stiles' bed. "I heard about the accident from the other cops in the station. Are you okay?"

He waves Parrish off. "Perfect. I'm in bed rest for another week or so while my leg heals." Stiles gently taps the cast, which has writing all over it already. Stiles pats down his covers, searching for something.

When he finds it, Stiles hands Parrish a black marker. Parrish stares at it, unsure whether Stiles is really coherent enough to ask.

"Yes," Stiles finally says. "Just write on my damn cast. There's enough room."

The others wrote things like, "Get better dipshit ~Lydia" and "Click it or ticket ~Danny" or "Feel better. I can't play with two controllers ~Scott." There's also a rendering of a bow and arrow with the name Allison next to it, and paw prints that follow Stiles' leg, clearly drawn by him, that lead to Derek Hale.

 _Woah. Wait_.

"Derek Hale?" Parrish asks, trying to find space to write his name. That's when the name connects with the face he just saw leave the room. "Wasn't he-"

"Nope. False charges." Stiles tries to help by turning his leg, wincing when he does it.

Parrish stops him. "Don't." He finally finds a small spot near the back and writes, "J Parrish."

"There we go," Stiles says. "I knew you were going to come down here. Did you feel anything?"

Parrish shakes his head. "No. I told you. Our bond is completely gone. I can't feel anything." He pauses for a moment, then he realizes everything Deaton has told him. "Stiles, I spoke to Alan Deaton... about us. He said he was the one who helped you when you found out about soul mates. Me, specifically. I- uh, Deaton told me about you not wanting one."

Stiles rubs the back of his neck. "Uh."

"Don't worry. I'm not upset. He told me everything about soul mates and why our connection broke, so I can't be angry with you. And I'm not, by the way."

"You should be. I'm pretty sure I'm the one who messed everything up in the first place."

Parrish laughs. "Actually, you're right about that."

Stiles gapes. "I was joking."

"I'm not. Deaton said that because you hated the idea combined with the fact that you started to like someone else are what broke our soul mate bond."

He blushes, but Parrish doesn't do anything but smile. "Wow. Somehow this doesn't surprise me."

Parrish nods and stands up. "Feel better, Stiles. And I'm sorry for all you had to put up with. I was really clumsy my early years as a cop. Especially with that bear..."

"Yeah what was that about?"

Parrish laughs again. "Nothing really special. I would tell you, but you look so tired I'm pretty sure you're going to fall asleep as soon as I close the door behind me."

"I'll see you around, Parrish."

"I'm sure I will."

Parrish leaves the house, and feels refreshed. But then something else happens. It isn't Stiles. It's something new. A small cut appears on his hand. He smiles.

The universe isn't done with him yet.


End file.
